“And You Shall Tell Your Son”: Identity and Belonging as Shaped by the Jewish Holidays 9781644698327

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“And You Shall Tell Your Son” Identity and Belonging as Shaped by the Jewish Holidays

“Professor Peleg provides a robust, nuanced and fascinating exploration into Jewish history and identity. His approach comes at a time when young generations are thirsty for voices which can hold and engage political complexities, dueling narratives and competing values. In this regard, Peleg is an exemplar and his book a must read.” – Rabbi Avram Mlotek, co-founder and spiritual director of Base, author of Why Jews Do That or 30 Questions Your Rabbi Never Answered

“A noted scholar and beloved teacher, Yitzhak Peleg takes the innovative approach of using the Jewish holidays to cultivate identity and belonging. Equally applicable to religious and to secular audiences, this engaging book weaves together modern and historical influences. Peleg inspires us both to teach our children and also to learn from them. Highly recommended!” – Danielle Ofri, MD, PhD, Editor of Bellevue Literary Review, author of When We Do Harm

“Yitzhak Peleg, a mainstream Israeli biblical critic and a gifted teacher and lecturer, provides a succinct but in-depth history, description, and explanation of all the Jewish holidays and fasts observed in contemporary Judaism in Israel and around the world. This book enlightens the eyes, warms the heart, and boggles the mind. Every chapter deals with the impact of the Holocaust and the Establishment of the State of Israel on the Jewish holidays and fasts. Peleg would like to add another Jewish holiday. The book shows how the holidays are oases of joy and serenity amidst lives increasingly beset with pandemics, terrorism, and ecological disasters, punctuated more often than we notice by monumental advances in medicine and science and breathtaking rediscoveries in archaeology and history. The officiants and congregants at the feasts and fasts Peleg describes are millions of members of a multi-gendered priesthood and laity of believers, un-believers, and visitors.” – Mayer I. Gruber, Professor Emeritus, Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Beer Sheva, Israel

“Israeli scholar and educator Itzik Peleg’s book on the Jewish holidays is refreshingly different. Rather than emphasize ritual observance as a mandate (halakha), it highlights the positive functions of holiday observance to galvanize Jewish and Israeli cultural identity. Rather than emphasize the spiritual aspects of the holidays, it highlights their value for educating the young and inculcating moral concerns. Peleg’s discussion of Jewish peoplehood and Israeli identity, which for him are complementary, is decisively pluralistic. He touches on many contemporary issues and draws on sources from the breadth of Jewish tradition and from the wisdom of humanity everywhere. He speaks for himself,

but his voice resonates with the liberal kibbutz culture to which he belongs. His is a voice that is both serious and affecting.” – Ed Greenstein, Professor Emeritus of Bible, Bar-Ilan University, Israel; author of Job: A New Translation

“In And You Shall Tell Your Son, prof. Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg focuses on the cycle of Jewish holidays according to the Jewish calendar. Although the biblical command “And you shall tell your son” (Exodus 13:8) relates to the exodus story, Peleg explains it to relate to all the various Jewish festivals and holy days. As a biblical scholar and an experienced educator, Peleg pays attention to the values that are gained by celebrating the festivals and holy days of this calendar, which are: identity, belonging, and memory (history). By repeating the history, the people intensify their identity and strengthen their belonging to the Jewish society. On the other hand, Peleg is aware that throughout the complex history of the Jewish people, the holidays and the festivals have been changed in different places. However, in spite of the changes, their contribution to the unity of the people and to the feeling of every individual that he is an inseparable part of the Jewish nation is enormous.” – Prof. Yairah Amit (emerita), Dept. of Biblical studies, Tel Aviv University

“In his book Prof. Itzhak (Itzik) Peleg sums up many years of educating students in all ages and at the same time, running a prominent biblical scholarship career. He gracefully entwines biblical hermeneutics and modern philosophers to a monumental work. His optimistic, positive, and unargumentative approach to Judaism, the modern state of Israel, Jewish holidays, and the Jewish calendar is captivating. More than 80% of the Jewish population of Israel are secular. Prof. Peleg does not hesitate to ask poignant timely questions: ‘How Can the Jew Who Does Not Belong to Any Religious Framework Express Belonging to Our People on Yom Kippur?’ His answer to the questions is always suggestive. Typically, he says: ‘There should be a sense of proportion between memory of the tragedies of the past and hope for the future in the Jewish calendar, the yearly cycle, which in many ways defines our peoplehood.’ His book should be a textbook for all movements of Judaism, and hopefully for interested Christians as well.” – Prof. Rami Arav, Department of Religion, University of Nebraska at Omaha

“And You Shall Tell Your Son” Identity and Belonging as Shaped by the Jewish Holidays Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg

BOSTON 2022

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Peleg, Itzik, author. | Rosenfeld, Nancy, translator. Title: “And you shall tell your son” : identity and belonging as shaped by the Jewish holidays / Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg ; translated by Nancy Rosenfeld. Other titles: Ṿe-higadeta le-vinkha. English Description: Boston : Academic Studies Press, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022001459 (print) | LCCN 2022001460 (ebook) | ISBN 9781644698310 (hardback) | ISBN 9781644698334 (paperback) | ISBN 9781644698327 (adobe pdf) | ISBN 9781644698341 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Jews--Identity. | Collective memory. | Fasts and feasts--Judaism. Classification: LCC DS143 .P43513 2022 (print) | LCC DS143 (ebook) | DDC 305.892/4--dc23/eng/20220218 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022001459 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022001460 ISBN 9781644698310 (hardback) ISBN 9781644698334 (paperback) ISBN 9781644698327 (adobe pdf) ISBN 9781644698341 (epub) Copyright © 2022 Academic Studies Press, English translation All rights reserved Book design by Lapiz Digital Services Cover design by Ivan Grave Academic Studies Press 1577 Beacon Street Brookline, MA 02446, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

Contents

Acknowledgments2 Introduction3  1. Holidays as an Educational Tool throughout the Generations: Examples 5   2. Holidays as Tools for Shaping Jewish Identity 

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  3. Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People

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 4. Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging 

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 5. The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging

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 6. Developments and Changes in the Holidays and in How We Relate to Them87  7. Passover as a Reflection of the Jewish Holidays

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 8. Lessons from Our Journey through the Jewish Calendar from a Child’s Overview

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 9. Epilogue: How Should We Celebrate Independence Day?

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Bibliography183  A. In English 

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 B. In Hebrew 

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Detailed Contents

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Index of the Jewish Holidays in Jewish Calendar Order

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“Readers who wish to focus on a specific holiday can of course turn to the index at the end of the book.”

Acknowledgments Several years ago my daughter Orit, who lives with her family in Sydney, Australia, asked me if I knew of a book about the Jewish holidays, which would help her to familiarize her three sons – my grandsons – with our rich culture. Orit explained: “The educational and ethical aspects of the holidays as forming our identity and sense of belonging are especially important.” After making an extensive – and unsuccessful - search, I answered Orit, half in jest: “I’ll write the book and give it to you and the boys as a gift.” Years passed, during which Orit’s request penetrated deep into my subconscious. Thus was born the motivation for the writing of And You Shall Tell Your Son. Special thanks are due to Dr. Nancy Rosenfeld, the translator. Her work has included the editing which we believe is necessary in order to make the book suitable and accessible to an English-language readership, including, as it does, readers who do not live in Israel. I should like to thank the Cultural Fund of Ein Hashofet, my kibbutz. The kibbutz generally, including the Fund, has provided generous support and encouragement throughout the long, sometimes arduous, but always exciting journey of writing this book. And You Shall Tell Your Son is dedicated to my wife Naomi, to our daughters, to our grandchildren, and to the coming generations, in the spirit of the command “And you shall tell your sons . . . what our fathers have told us … that the future generations might know – children yet to be born – and in turn tell their children” (Psalms 78: 3,6).

Introduction As a Bible Studies scholar, in And You Shall Tell Your Son I offer an educational, values-based approach to the cycle of Jewish holidays—festivals and holy days—as found in the Jewish calendar. These special days play a double role: they reflect a sense of identity with, and belonging to, the Jewish people, while simultaneously shaping that identity and sense of belonging. The biblical command “And you shall tell your son” (Exodus 13:8) is meant to ensure that the children will become familiar with the history of their people via the experience of celebrating the holidays. It is my claim, however, that this command must be preceded by another educational command: “And you shall listen to your son and your daughter.” This book examines the various Jewish holidays and ways in which they are celebrated, while focusing on three general topics: identity, belonging, memory. Throughout the generations, observance of the holidays has developed and changed, from time to time and place to place. These changes have enabled generations of Jews, in their various communities, to define their own Jewish identity and sense of belonging. In an extensive discussion of Passover, the festival is treated as a reflection of the Jewish holidays as a whole: the chapter also expresses the overall educational approach of this book. Moreover, I take the reader on a journey through the many Days of Mourning in the Jewish calendar. Bearing in mind the importance of listening to one’s sons and daughters, this journey leads me to suggest that days of mourning and sorrow may constitute a burden on the younger generation—a burden which to some extent can and should be lessened. I do not suggest changing or cancelling any of the traditional fast days; I do, however, raise the possibility of an educational debate leading to a heightened awareness of this sense of burden. The middle of the twentieth century saw the most terrible days in Jewish history since the Exile two millennia ago. The Sho’ah—genocide of one-third of the Jewish people—was immediately followed by the long-awaited redemption: the establishment and recognition of Israel as the Jewish national home and nation-state. It is my claim that in the light of the establishment of the State of Israel it is vital to enhance the sense of joy, which is part of the yearly cycle of the

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Jewish calendar, based as it is, at least in part, on the climatic-agricultural cycle of the seasons in the land of Israel. Yet the very existence of the State of Israel should encourage an awareness of the wide variety of ways in which each and every holiday is celebrated, thus allowing for a calmer, more mutually accepting dialogue within the Jewish people. This book suggests ways to express hope and joy in the celebration of the various Jewish holidays. As it is written: “And you shall rejoice in your festivals” (Deuteronomy 16:13). My awareness of the importance of a sense of belonging to the Jewish people has led me to appeal directly to my fellow-Jews to join in a search for traditions and approaches to Jewish history which we bear in common, simultaneously granting legitimacy to a variety of new ways of celebrating the Jewish holidays. Integration and balance between tradition and renewal will make the Jewish holidays relevant to more and more Jews, both young and older. This book speaks of the connection between Jews among themselves, as well as that between Jews and their past. I hope that this translation into English will encourage ties that inspire a sense of belonging between Jews of the Diaspora and Jews living in the State of Israel. This was my aim with the publishing of the book in Hebrew. This book is devoted to a study of Jewish holidays from an educationalethical standpoint. I should like to note, therefore, what is not found herein: despite my emphasis on education. This is not a “Teacher’s Handbook,” and does not offer a specific program for each holiday. It is beyond the scope of this volume to cover in detail all of the holidays, past and present, of all of our Jewish communities, with their rich variety of customs, costumes, foods, songs, prayers, even languages (the latter play a dramatic role in creating a festive and experiential atmosphere). The Jewish bookshelf, however, already contains many volumes which describe the Jewish holidays and customs. Nor will the reader find separate, comprehensive discussions of each holiday according to its chronological place in the Jewish calendar. Instead, this volume is structured according to the educational and ethical values of various holidays. Readers who wish to focus on a specific holiday can of course turn to the index at the end of the book.

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Holidays as an Educational Tool throughout the Generations: Examples There is no better educational way to view Judaism as a living tradition than through experiencing its holidays (hagim). (Eliezer Schweid)1

This chapter presents a variety of examples of ways in which festivals and holy days serve, and have served, as educational tools throughout the generations. Are the Jewish festivals and holy days worthy educational tools? The need to ponder this question was raised by biblical prophets in their criticism of those doing the celebrating. For example: how do we explain the prophet Amos’s scathing words, directed in anger toward his fellow Jews—“I loathe, I spurn your festivals” (Amos 5:21).2 The prophet Isaiah uses similar language: “Your new moons and fixed seasons / Fill Me [the Deity] with loathing” (Isaiah 1:14). In addition to the sense of loathing, the use of “your festivals,” “your fixed seasons”—rather than “our festivals” and “our fixed seasons”—points to the sense of alienation which the prophets felt towards the celebrants. How can we explain the prophets’ anger towards their people’s festivals and those who celebrate them? Isaiah explains his negative feelings in pictorial language. For him, the gap between bringing sacrifices and praying during the festivals, and between immoral behavior throughout the year on the part of the celebrants, cries out to heaven.

1 2

Eliezer Schweid, The Jewish Experience of Time [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am oved, 1984), 10. Unless otherwise indicated, English-language citations of the Hebrew Bible are to The JPS Hebrew-English Tanakh, second edition (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1999).

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Isaiah says to the celebrants: when you stretch out your hands to heaven and pray to God, God does not listen to you, because “your hands are stained with crime” (Isaiah 1:15), seemingly from the blood of the sacrificial animals. Rashi suggests that the blood on their hands is a result of killing. Yet the reason for the Deity’s anger is clarified a few lines later. God identifies “clean hands” with moral behavior: Wash yourselves clean; Put your evil doings Away from My sight. Cease to do evil; Learn to do good. Devote yourselves to justice; Aid the wronged. Uphold the rights of the orphan; Defend the cause of the widow. (Isaiah 1:16–17) In the eyes of the prophets the festivals (hahagim) are intended to express ethics, the moral lives of the celebrants, rather than serve as a replacement for immoral, corrupt relationships among the people.3 The demands of the prophets for ethical behavior are no less actual and relevant today. Their message is for all generations. Moreover, the educational-moral aspects of the prophets’ teachings are intended to be relevant to the celebrants not only on the holidays, but every day and for all time. We can assume that the prophets did not object to the festivals and holy days per se, but rather loathed—in their words—the hypocrisy attendant on the way the people celebrated. This without doubt is a message for all generations. The Jewish holidays indeed bear educational messages for all time. In the Hebrew Bible itself the holidays recall events which were of vital significance when they occurred, and will continue to be no less important for future generations. The following examples of Jewish holidays teach us that during

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The Sages’ writings on Yom Kippur reflect a similar view: “Offenses between man and God: Yom Kippur [observance] atones for them. Offenses between one man and another: Yom Kippur does not atone for them, until the offender placates the offended” (Mishnah Yoma 7:8). The term Sages, usually part of a Hebrew acronym Chaza”l meaning “our Sages, of blessed memory,” refers to Jewish sages, whether scribes, teachers, or interpreters, from the last 300 years of the Second Temple period until the sixth century CE: c.250 BCE—625 CE.

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the biblical period, that is, the supposed time period of events described in the Hebrew Bible, concern for the future, for continuation, was emphasized. As noted in the Book of Esther: “these holidays are recalled and observed in every generation” (Esther 9:28). Indeed, the importance of continuation dates back to the very early biblical period, with reference to the practice of male circumcision: “And throughout the generations, every male among you shall be circumcised at the age of eight days” (Genesis 17:12), thus symbolizing the sense of belonging to a people in the past, present and future. In a Janus-like stance, the holidays indeed face the past, present and future, expressing what is held in common by the celebrants throughout the generations. Let us begin with examples of ways in which the hagim—festivals and holy days—have functioned, and continue to function, as educational tools. I hope that this chapter will encourage the current generation of parents and educators to find additional creative examples for the younger generation in the spirit of the command “And you shall tell your son,” according to educational wisdom: “train/teach your son in his own way” (Proverbs 22:6).4 The expression “in his own way” herein means according to his age, character, personality, and possibly even his wishes, rather than according to the “way” of the teacher. The parents’ generation, in other words, must listen to the younger generation. In order to pass on their “way,” the educating generation should be sensitive to the way of the sons and daughters. Let us note that the meaning of the Hebrew in Proverbs—translated as “in the way he ought to go”—is ambiguous. In context, it is possible to understand the verse as claiming that the teacher should train the child according to the teacher’s way, especially since the verse is an imperative, addressed to the educator: “Train (hanoch!) a lad . . .” In the translation that we have been using, the verse reads: “Train a lad in the way he ought to go.” I believe, however, that this unambiguous translation does not do justice to the rich, complex, multi-layered message of the verse. The vagueness of the original Hebrew wording is intentional, aiming to create the legitimate option of “two readings,” two interpretations. Therein lies the verse’s beauty. In order to transmit your tradition, you must be sensitive both to the tradition itself, and to the one whom you wish to receive the tradition.

4

NJPS: “Train a lad in the way he ought to go.” See my Introduction for an expansion of the meaning of this verse, Proverbs 22:6 in pages 28, 56, 119, 137.

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As with the four sons at the Seder table, the four species in Sukkot are understood to represent different types of Jews; this emphasizes that the Jewish people is not monolithic. In Rashi’s interpretation to this verse: “‘Train a lad’—according to what you teach the lad, and educate him as to good and evil, he will not stray from this way, even as an old man.” Rashi herein appears to be emphasizing the overriding importance of educating the young. Our journey through the length and breadth of the Jewish calendar now begins.

1)  The Contribution of Reading the Five Scrolls on the Holidays: The Song of Songs on Passover; The Book of Ruth on Shavu’ot; Lamentations on Tish’a b’Av; Ecclesiastes [Kohelet] on Sukkot; The Book of Esther on Purim Our journey begins with an educational custom worthy of imitation. The reading aloud of the five scrolls in public during Jewish festivals and holy days is an ongoing educational tool. What, then, is the educational message of the custom, which began during the Middle Ages, of reading these texts aloud and in public?5 In his discussion of the command “And you shall tell your son” Aryeh Ben Gurion suggests understanding the term haggadah not as a one-time saying, but as repeated telling.6 The message is repeated over and over, year after year, as an educational tool. In Jewish culture repetition is not limited to the yearly reading of the Haggadah of Passover. In addition to the reading of the Haggadah, and public reading of the five scrolls, the weekly Torah portion is read aloud. The weekly Torah portions, together with their haftarah (accompanying passages from the prophets) have an educational function in shaping identity and sense of belonging on the part of the reader. Reading aloud, in public, has always been aimed at exposing the Torah to the listeners. This exposure is an effective, even pleasant way of transmitting a cultural tradition. Speaking from my own

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See, however, Yaakov Klein, “Introduction to the Five Scrolls” [Hebrew], in The World of the Tanakh, Megillot (Tel Aviv: Revivim, 1988), 8: “The custom of reading the Scroll of Esther on the holiday of Purim began as far back as the Second Temple period.” Shittim, website of the Department of Holidays of the Kibbutz Movement, www.chagim. org.il.

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experience: when a teacher reads Bible passages aloud in class, expressively and clearly, focusing on those values which he or she chooses to emphasize, and then encourages class discussion of the issues which have been raised, pupils enjoy reading the Bible! Reading the five scrolls7 aloud unites the listeners in a current experience, based on past culture. Martin Buber has pointed out the importance of reading aloud and its contribution to reading comprehension. Reading aloud brings the text to life, thereby strengthening the celebrants’ sense of belonging.8 As Klein notes, “The custom of reading the Scrolls in the synagogue before reading from the Torah served to ‘publicize’ them in the eyes of the people. The Scrolls thus became more popular than the rest of the books of the Hebrew Bible.”9 The occasions of the reading of the five scrolls are as follows: The Song of Songs—Passover The Book of Ruth—Shavu’ot Lamentations—Tish’a b’Av Ecclesiastes [Kohelet]—Sukkot The Book of Esther—Purim

a)  Reading the Book of Jonah on Yom Kippur In addition to the custom of reading the five Scrolls aloud, the Book of Jonah is read on Yom Kippur.10 What educational message, worthy of being read and reread throughout the generations, is contained in the Book of Jonah? Like the weekly reading of the Torah portion, reading the Book of Jonah aloud is an educational tool: celebrants at the synagogue are thereby familiarized with the Book and its messages. However, what is the connection of Jonah to

  7 Prof. Ed Greenstein writes to me: “Nowadays in traditional synagogues (traditional Orthodox and Conservative), and perhaps in other Jewish religious groupings, the Song of Songs is read in synagogue on the Shabbat occurring on the intermediate days of Passover, while Ecclesiastes is read on the Shabbat occurring on the intermediate days of Sukkot. There are, however, some Reform synagogues in which these texts are not read aloud.” (Personal correspondence, April 19, 2021)   8 Martin Buber, Document and Purpose [Hebrew], vol. 1 ( Jerusalem: Hasifriya hazionit, 1984), 139.   9 Klein, “Introduction to the Five Scrolls,” 8. 10 See Y. Zakovitch and A. Shinan, “The Sea Voyages of Jonah in Jewish Literature throughout the Ages” [Hebrew], in The Book of Jonah: A New Israeli Commentary (Tel Aviv: Mishkal, 2015), 17–19.

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Yom Kippur? Joseph Roth Rotem notes that “The Torah Sages mandate the reading of Jonah at the mincha (afternoon) prayer service of Yom Kippur, but do not explain why.”11 A later Sage answers: because of the repentance of the people of Nineveh (Machzor vitery). In chapter 1 of Jonah, we learn that the sailors on the ship—which Jonah boarded in order to flee from God—“repented.” Later in the Book we learn that the people of Nineveh repented: “The people of Nineveh believed God” (Jonah 3:5). Of the people of Nineveh, it is said that God accepted their repentance: “God saw what they did, how they were turning back from their evil ways. And God renounced the punishment He planned to carry out upon them, and did not carry it out” (Jonah 3:10). We must now ask whether not only the sailors on the ship and the people of Nineveh repented, but whether Jonah, too, repented.12 Did Jonah repent of running away in order to avoid carrying out God’s command? Did Jonah, at the end of the Book, “choose” God and the way of mercy? It is difficult to know, since the Book ends with a rhetorical question posed by God, which Jonah does not answer: “Should not I care about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not yet know their right hand from their left, and many beasts as well? ” (Jonah 4:10) How can we interpret Jonah’s silence? Does it represent agreement, which may in itself be a kind of repentance? It would seem, however, that for Jonah there is no room for repentance, regret, contrition. Jonah would thus be the anti-hero of the Book that bears his name—perhaps even a zealot, an extremist. The reader is convinced that every possible means is used to return Jonah from his extreme ways, including teaching by example: the sailors repent; the people of Nineveh repent; the Deity appears as merciful and forgiving, in contrast to Jonah’s expectation that He would be a jealous, unforgiving God, who would destroy the city of Nineveh. Even the “ricinus plant [gourd] is used

11 See Yoseph Roth Rotem, “The Book of Jonah is read on Yom Kippur in order “to teach human beings that they can never flee from God.” “Jonah” [Hebrew], in Jewish Holidays’ Encyclopedia, ed. Yoel Rappel (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers, 2004), 181. Roth Rotem adds: “A different approach is presented by fourteenth-century scholar Yehoshuah Ibn Shai’iv: ‘The prophecy of Jonah ben Amitai teaches that God has mercy on all of His creations, and even on the gentiles.’” 12 See Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg, “Two Readings of the Book of Jonah: ‘Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown’ ( Jonah 3:4),” in God’s Word for Our World, Biblical Studies in Honor of Simon John De Vries, ed. J. Harold Ellens et al., vol. 1 (London and New York: T & T Clark, 2004), 262–274.

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to open Jonah’s eyes as to the preference of mercy over zealotry.”13 This contrast is the Deity’s educational method in the Book of Jonah—and one which could serve as an example throughout the ages. The educational message of the Jonah is that forgiveness and repentance are vastly preferable to revenge. Therefore, this Book is read on Yom Kippur.

b)  The Book of Jonah according to: “Train up a lad according to his way”14 In addition to providing examples of repentance, the Book of Jonah raises other central questions: are prophecy, and indeed, the influence of the Deity, limited to the land of Israel? Does Jonah flee because he fears that he might be called a false prophet? Is the Deity a zealous God, or a God of mercy? Let us now focus on the Deity’s educational method. After all, God does not preach to Jonah, but rather educates him via deeds. This method is wellsuited to Jonah. When God commands him to go to Nineveh and proclaim judgment upon the city (Jonah 1:1), he does not speak to the Deity, or argue with Him, but simply runs away. In response, God challenges Jonah with a series of learning experiences meant to “teach him a lesson.” The first takes place aboard ship. Jonah runs away to sea presumably because he believes that God will not find him there, since His influence is limited to the land of Israel. The narrator tells us, however, that God has caused the storm which endangers the ship and everyone aboard: “the Lord cast a mighty wind upon the sea [. . .] a great tempest came upon the sea” (Jonah 1:4). The tempest teaches Jonah, as well as the readers and listeners, that the Deity does indeed rule the waters. From Jonah’s reply to the sailors we learn that he accepts God’s rule over the sea which He created: “‘I am a Hebrew,’ he replied. ‘I worship the Lord, the God of Heaven, who made both sea and land’” (Jonah 1:9). Jonah’s second learning experience takes place in the belly of the fish (Jonah 1:1). At first Jonah is apparently silent; only after three days have gone by does he pray to the Lord his God for deliverance, although he does not express repentance for fleeing. The fish (as do the sea and the ship’s captain)

13 See my article on the discussion of the negative influence of zealotry on Hannukah and the Maccabees, "Is the Macabees’ bravery exemplary?” in Alei Mo’ed: Hanukkah, edited by Itzik Peleg, 2008, 8-11. 14 See note 4 in the Introduction for a discussion of the difficulties involved in translating this passage from Proverbs.

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appears as God’s messenger and at His command spews Jonah out onto dry land (Jonah 2:11). In the book’s last chapter, we have the story of the gourd plant which God created in order to provide Jonah with shade, and then caused to dry up, all within one day and night (Jonah 4:6–7). Unlike the previous challenges, in this case God engages Jonah in a discussion (Jonah 4:9). As an experienced teacher, the Deity understands that not every pupil is able to draw the desired conclusion from undergoing a challenging experience. In order for Jonah to “learn his lesson” it was necessary for the teacher to clearly “spell it out”: Then the Lord said: You cared about the plant, which you did not work for and which you did not grow, which appeared overnight and perished overnight. And should I not care about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not yet know their right hand from their left, and many beasts as well! ( Jonah 4:10–11) At long last there is a verbal dialogue between God and Jonah. Again, as experienced teachers know, when a dialogue between teacher and pupil takes place after, and on the basis of, experience, there is a greater chance for behavior change and for drawing of conclusions on the part of the pupil— or in other words, the experience as a whole is an educational success. In Jonah’s case we cannot be sure that the Deity, the Teacher Himself, felt that he had indeed succeeded in educating Jonah as to the importance of repentance. The Deity’s educational ways in the Book of Jonah are best expressed by “Train up a lad in his own unique way.” God uses an educational method suited to his pupil, in this case one based less on words, and more on deeds. Such an educational approach, which involves listening sensitively to the girl or the lad, and only then choosing the method most appropriate to the individual, is as worth adopting now as it was during the biblical period.

2)  Education for All Generations on Sukkot Our journey through the Jewish calendar continues. Some four days separate Yom Kippur from Sukkot, the Festival of Booths (or temporary huts).

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a)  Why do Jews sit in the Sukkah? What does the Sukkah symbolize? According to the Mishnah: “During the seven days [of Sukkot] one’s sukkah is his permanent home, and his permanent home is his temporary residence” (Mishnah Sukkah 2:9). Sitting, even dwelling in the sukkah, express simplicity, “making do with little.” This complements one of the important educational aspects of the festival: the expression of gratitude and joy for the plenty received by the celebrants at harvest time.15 The rationale for dwelling in the sukkah appears only once in the Hebrew Bible. In the words of Leviticus: “You shall live in booths [temporary huts] seven days; all citizens in Israel shall live in booths, in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people live in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt” (Leviticus 23:42–3). This explanation is somewhat unsatisfactory. Is this “dwelling in sukkot on the part of our forefathers” a onetime event? Did it occur, as we might expect, immediately after the exodus from Egypt? If so, why is Sukkot celebrated in the month of Tishri (in the autumn), rather than in Nissan (in the spring), shortly after Passover? Do we really need a second festival celebrating the exodus from Egypt? If we look at the symbols of the festivals, is there a difference between the sukkah of Sukkot and the matzah of Passover? It seems that dwelling in the sukkah is intended to symbolize the forty years during which our forefathers wandered through the desert. In other words, what must we remember: the exodus itself? Four decades of wandering in the desert? Or perhaps the Deity who brought the people out of Egypt and led them through the desert? The Sages, who were aware of the difficulties inherent in dwelling in the sukkah, interpreted the booths metaphorically as “pillars of clouds,” rather than as “real booths” (Mishnah, tractate Sukkah page 11, page 2). What is the source of the interpretation according to which the booths symbolize the clouds, by means of which God protects and defends the children of Israel in the desert? According to Numbers 14:14: “You, O Lord, appear in plain sight when Your cloud rests over [the people] and when You go before them in a pillar of cloud by day and in a pillar of fire by night.” It is, of course, not surprising that clouds were seen as protecting the wanderers from the sun’s rays.16 The Sages,

15 See Pnina Galpaz-Feller, Rediscovering the Holidays, A New Perspective on the Jewish Festivals ( Jerusalem: TALI Education Fund, 2008), 34–35. 16 See Isaiah 4:5–6.

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moreover, add a miraculous dimension to the identity of the booths with clouds; the Divine pillar of clouds expresses the Deity’s Providence and protection of the people as they wander through the desert: “Why do the people of Israel build booths [during Sukkot—in memory of] the miracles which the Holy One performed for them when they left Egypt [. . .] pillars of clouds which surrounded and protected them. [. . .] The Holy One said to them: My children, you build booths and dwell in them for seven days, in order to remember the miracles that I performed for you in the desert.”17 Both the Rashbam (Rabbi Samuel ben Meir, 1085–1158) and the Rambam (Maimonides—Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon [c.1135–1204]) have pointed out the educational, didactic importance of the sukkah. Both combine Sukkot as a harvest festival, an agricultural holiday, with the historical memory of the booths built in the desert, and suggest an educational dimension of “making do.” The hut itself, and the period of dwelling in it, are temporary, as are man’s achievements, and serve to put these achievements in proportion, thus encouraging a sense of humility. In the words of the Rashbam: “The Holy One, blessed be His name, placed the festival of Sukkot during the time of the grain and grape harvest, in order that man’s heart not be overly proud.” The Rambam adds: “Man must always remember the bad times during the good times, in order to increase his gratitude to God and to increase his sense of humility.” 18 N. H. Tur-Sinai (Torczyner) has called attention to the image of clouds, in the literal sense, as a source of rain, especially during the autumn, when farmers in the land of Israel pray for a rainy winter. A similar combination of the historical aspect of the holiday (the exodus from Egypt) and the agricultural aspect is expressed by Isaiah, via the image of the sukkah as a temporary shelter for the night-watchman of the vineyard during the time of the grape harvest: “[Fair Zion is left] like a booth in a vineyard” (Isaiah 1:8). Tur-Sinai also discusses the possibility that the sukkah erected as part of the festival also recalls the huts put up by those making the thrice-yearly pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Indeed, the pilgrims built shelters during the pilgrimages of Passover and Shavu’ot, as well as Sukkot. This possibility relates not to the people’s wanderings in the desert, but rather to the purpose of the hut for the farmer. We discern, in other words, the phenomenon of developments and changes in the holidays resulting from changes in time and place, and necessitated by the perceived need to maintain

17 Pesikta-Rabbi Kahana’s Rulings, Buber edition, 169, 72.(from the fifth century CE) 18 Rashbam, commentaries on the weekly Torah portion Emor; Rambam, Guide to the Perplexed, part 3, chapter 43.

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the holiday’s relevance to a people who were no longer desert nomads, but settled farmers. 19 To sum up this discussion of the sukkah: from an educational-ethical point of view we should see the sukkah as symbolizing temporariness as well as support and protection. In the words of Talmi et al: “We find many purposes for the mitzva of dwelling in the sukkah: recalling huts erected by farmers during harvest time, expression of the hope for rain, remembrance of the exodus from Egypt, memory of the Temple, and last but not least—an expression of our existential recognition of the temporary nature of material life.”20 May we learn to support and protect one another not only during hard times and during the seven days of the festival, but daily! And may we pass this message on to future generations.

b)  The Four Species as symbols of the variety of identities among the people The Four Species—along with the sukkah itself—are a central part of the celebration of the Festival of Sukkot and bear a message for future generations: You shall take the product of hadar [citron] trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before the Lord your God seven days. [. . .] as a law for all time, throughout the ages (Leviticus 23:40–41). On the basis of the above, we do not know precisely which plants are intended, or what each symbolizes. Let us turn to the Midrash vayikra raba for enlightenment: The fruits of the hadar tree are Israel: the etrog (fruit of the tree) has taste and odor. Among the people of Israel are those who have Torah (learning) and good deeds.

19 N. H. Tur-Sinai, Peshuto Shel Mikra [Hebrew], vol. 1 ( Jerusalem: Kiryat sefer, 1962), 143–144. 20 Bini Talmi, Ronen Ahituv, and Ayelet Linn, Suggestions for Holiday Rituals in the Family [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am oved, 2015), 125.

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The palm branches are Israel: they have taste but lack odor. Among the people are those who have Torah but lack good deeds. And the leafy trees are Israel: they have odor but lack taste. Among the people are those who have good deeds but lack Torah. And the willows of the brook are also Israel: they have neither taste nor odor. Among the people there are those who have neither Torah nor good deeds. And what did the Holy One do to the latter? He could not destroy them; so He decided that all four would be joined into one society in which each would atone for the others (Midrash vayikra raba 30:12). The collocation “they are Israel” points to the sheer variety of the people. Each of the Four Species represents the people of Israel. This is an educational message—the most important and relevant of the festival’s messages for our times, during which the identity of the Jewish people is not monolithic, but rather characterized by a variety of identities. The Four Species of Sukkot, along with the Four Sons of Passover, symbolize this variety. The four complement one another and create unity—rather than uniformity—among the people.

3) “The opposite happened” (venahafoch hu) (Esther 9:1)—Purim in Every Generation Viewing Purim as a point on the map of our journey through the educational value of the Jewish holidays is somewhat problematical: I sense a dissonance between the traditionally joyous atmosphere of the festival and elements which awaken a sense of discomfort. We are commanded to celebrate the holiday throughout the generations, as recorded in the Book (Scroll) of Esther: And [Mordecai] sent dispatches to all the Jews throughout the provinces of King Ahasuerus, near and far, charging them to observe the fourteenth and fifteenth days of Adar, every year [. . .] Consequently, these days are recalled and observed in every generation (Esther 9:21, 28).

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“Every” and “all” (col in Hebrew) are repeated and serve as a leitwort—a motif—which emphasizes the command to all Jews, in every place, every year and every generation, to remember and observe the festival.

a)  The source of sorrow on Purim Every year, as Purim approaches, I feel joy mixed with sorrow. My confusion can be understood in the light of my claim that the observance of the various festivals, and especially remembrance days and fasts throughout the year, may be burdensome for our younger generation. Then why does Purim, generally seen as two days of rejoicing, awaken in me criticism and even sorrow? Are the latter caused by the sense of gloating and revenge which accompany the holiday? Indeed, the Book itself seems to call for revenge: Throughout the provinces of King Ahasuerus, the Jews mustered in their cities to attack those who sought their hurt [. . .] So the Jews struck at their enemies with the sword, slaying and destroying; they wreaked their will upon their enemies. In the fortress Shushan the Jews killed a total of five hundred men (Esther 9:2, 5–6). I feel discomfort with the idea that the Book (Scroll) of Esther has become a source of inspiration in our time: I first sensed discomfort with what appears to be a justification for gloating, on reading Naftali Lau-Lavie’s depiction of the murder of ten Jews, including his father Rabbi Lau—Piotrków’s community leaders—by the Germans. According to Lau-Lavie, the ten were murdered on Purim, in what was known as Operation Purim, in response to the arrest of ten Germans by the British in Palestine: The ten were taken to the Jewish cemetery outside the town. They were ordered to run up the hill to an open pit, where they were shot. During and after the shooting the drums rolled and the Nazi audience cheered.21

21 Naftali Lau-Lavie, A People as a Lion [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Ma’ariv, 1993).

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Another occasion of anger at an act of revenge took place in 1994. Under the influence of verses from Esther 9, Dr. Baruch Goldstein, the physician of the Jewish community in Kiryat Arba, entered the Muslim prayer area in the Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron and opened fire, murdering 29 Muslims and wounding 125, before being overpowered and killed. In the face of almost total condemnation of his heinous act on the part of Jewish Israelis, Goldstein’s gravesite became a place of pilgrimage for some Jewish extremists. It is terrible to see how the Book (Scroll) of Esther has inspired murder in our days. A second cause of my feeling of discomfort on Purim is connected to the custom of wearing costumes. The costume and mask enable the celebrant to hide his or her identity, in what may be seen as a form of lying. What is the educational dimension of this custom of hiding one’s true identity? On the other hand, perhaps the custom of dressing up should be appreciated as enabling the celebrants to enjoy themselves. Or in the words of Rabbi Moses Isserles, “It is not forbidden to wear a mask on Purim, or for a man to dress up as a woman, or a woman as a man, since the purpose is simply enjoyment.”22

b)  What is so educational about the commandment to get drunk on Purim? Perhaps my sense of discomfort as to the observation of Purim stems from the “command” to get drunk. The approach of the Hebrew Bible and of the Sages to the consumption of alcohol is complicated and controversial. Indeed, as Yitzhak Avishor notes: “The Book of Esther is intended to be read aloud, in public, during Purim, which is a joyous holiday, in which it is customary to get drunk. For this reason—and from the fear that drinking will result in defilement of the name of God, the Deity’s name is not mentioned in the Book (the Scroll).”23 On the one hand, wine is praised in Psalm 104:15 for “cheering the hearts of men.” On the other hand, wine has derogatory connotations. The prophet Isaiah shouts: “Ah, those who chase liquor / From early in the morning, / And till late in the evening / Are inflamed by wine!” (Isaiah 5:11). Later in the

22 Rpt. in Nahum Wahrmann, The Holidays and Festivals of the Jewish People [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Ahiasaf, 1966), 124. 23 Yaakov Klein, The World of the Bible: The Scroll of Esther [Hebrew], ed. Menachem Haran ( Jerusalem: Davidson-Ittai, 1988), 66.

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same chapter those who get drunk are described in all the immorality of their addictive behavior: Ah, those who call evil good and good evil; Who present darkness as light and light as darkness; Who present bitter as sweet and sweet as bitter! Ah, those who are so wise—in their own opinion; So clever—in their own judgment! Ah, those who are so doughty—as drinkers of wine, And so valiant—as mixers of drink! (Isaiah 5:20–22) The source of the commandment to get drunk is the Amorah raba of Babylon: “One must get drunk on Purim, until he does not know the difference between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordechai’” (Megilla 7:72). Throughout the centuries interpreters have rejected, or at least moderated, this command. Rabbi Menachem Hameiri (1249–1310), the great Talmudic interpreter from Provence, argued: One must rejoice in eating and and drinking on Purim. [. . .] However, we are not called on to put ourselves to shame as part of the rejoicing. We have not been commanded to debauch ourselves, to be foolish, but rather to enjoy ourselves via love of God and acknowledgment of the miracles which He performed for us.”24 The Rambam (Maimonides) rules that “one should drink wine until he falls asleep,” since the sleeper may be said not to know anything, and is thus fulfilling the command.25 Inspired by the Rambam, in his weekly lecture prior to Purim, 2010, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef spoke out against the custom of getting drunk on the holiday, calling it an abomination, evil. One is told to drink alcoholic liquor “until he does not know the difference between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordechai’”: How can we understand this confusing, even embarrassing command? What can be educational about encouraging one’s pupils to drink themselves senseless? If the command to get

24 From M. B. Levin, Treasury of the Geniuses ( Jerusalem: Mosad ha-rav Kook, 1933), 16. 25 Rambam, Halakhot Megillah 2:15.

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wildly drunk is limited to Purim, it may serve as a valve, a cork that is opened once a year in order to relieve pressure. In this case it is possible to discern an educational message: one may drink himself senseless once a year, but on all other occasions drinking and drunkenness are forbidden. In their discussions of this passage the Sages focused on interpreting the commandment to get drunk. I would like to focus on the word until (“until he does not know”). This enables a less embarrassing understanding of the command. What is the meaning of “until” in its current context? It may indeed mandate setting limits on drinking. One’s drinking should be proportionate: he should only drink up until he approaches the point of senselessness. But how does the celebrant know when he has reached the limit of his ability to “hold his liquor”? If two people are imbibing alcohol together, one may get drunk on a single glass, while his friend will need half a bottle in order to fall “under the influence.” The drinkers, moreover, often do not sense their loss of control, and may endanger themselves and their surroundings. We now return to Isaiah, who expresses the problem of lack of limits and the dangers involved in alcohol addiction: “Ah, Those who chase liquor / From early in the morning, / And till late in the evening / Are inflamed by wine!” (5:11). What, then, is Purim’s educational message? I suggest that this festival and its accompanying observances enable parents, teachers and other educators to raise such issues as: costumes (changing one’s identity; is this a form of lying?), gloating over others’ downfall, revenge, how we relate to the Other, antisemitism, drinking and alcohol addiction. The various observances of Purim provide a chance to raise all these questions: there is an educational message in the very fact of discussing these issues in connection with the holiday.

c)  On the dramatic change in the Book of Esther—“From grief to joy”—and on the holiday’s positive values Despite my criticism of central elements in the celebration of Purim, our discussion of the holiday is about to undergo a dramatic change. The story told in the Book begins with grief, with an existential threat to the Jews of the whole of King Ahasuerus’s empire, and concludes with a dramatic change: survival, prosperity and joy. Let us now return to the title of this section: “The opposite happened” (Esther 9:1)—Purim.” The Book of Esther includes a number of contrary situations, of dramatic changes. Perhaps the greatest is “from grief to joy”: Purim is celebrated on the same days on which

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the Jews enjoyed relief from their foes and the same month which had been transformed for them from one of grief and mourning to one of festive joy. They were to observe them as days of feasting and merrymaking, and as an occasion for sending gifts to one another and presents to the poor (Esther 9:22). The custom of sending gifts of food points out the value of mutual assistance within the community, especially since the gifts are not sent only to one’s friends, but to poor strangers.26 Shuchtman asks when the custom of giving gifts to poor strangers on Purim began.27 His answer: The earliest source of this custom is connected to Rabbi Kalonimus ben Isaac the Elder, one of the early sages of Ashkenaz [middle and eastern Europe], and a contemporary of Rashi. In Shuchtman’s words, “The main aim of the commandment is to enable poor Jews to rejoice on the holiday, as they are commanded.”

4)  Passover’s Educational Message throughout the Generations (Ledorotaichem) As far back as the Book of Exodus we see that Passover—as is the case with the rest of the Jewish holidays—is intended to educate the coming generations: This day shall be to you one of remembrance: you shall celebrate it as a festival to the Lord throughout the ages (ledorotaichem); you shall celebrate it as an institution for all time. Seven days you shall eat unleavened bread matzot (Exodus 12:14–15). Eating matzot on Passover recalls and makes real the exodus from Egypt as a constitutive event. In this section we focus on the nature of Passover’s educational message for future generations. One of the educational building-blocks which we make use of is an optimistic view of what Jews hold in common.

26 See Talmi et al., Holiday Rituals, 254, on giving gifts to the poor. Rambam writes: “It is better to give generously to the poor than to lavishly entertain and send presents to one’s friends. There is no happiness greater than giving joy to the poor, the widow, the orphan, the stranger. Enabling these people to rejoice is like the Divine spirit. As it is said, ‘Reviving the spirits of the lowly / Reviving the hearts of the contrite’ (Isaiah 57:15).” On caring for the poor and the weak, see also our discussion of “this bread of affliction” on Passover; the Book of Ruth; the custom of inviting the poor to the sukkah on Sukkot. 27 Eliav Shuchtman, “On the Custom of Giving Gifts to Poor Strangers on Purim,” Sinai 100 (1987): 823–855.

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It is, unfortunately, only human to emphasize our differences. I propose to emphasize our common denominators as Jews and human beings: both with our contemporaries and with our forefathers. The commandment “And you shall tell your son” forms the basis of the creation of this common denominator.

5)  Education throughout the Generations on Shavu’ot As far back as the Book of Leviticus, Shavu’ot—the Festival of the First Fruits— has been defined as an occasion to be celebrated throughout the generations: You shall hold a celebration; it shall be a sacred occasion for you; you shall not work at your occupations. This is a law for all time in all your settlements, throughout the ages. And when you reap the harvest of your land (Leviticus 23: 21–22). In other words, the festival will be celebrated during future generations, “for all times.”

a)  Why is the Book of Ruth read in public on Shavu’ot? Evidence of public reading of the Book of Ruth on Shavu’ot dates from the eighth century CE.28 There are a number of theories as to the connection between the Book and the festival. One theory is based on the time of year when Naomi and Ruth returned from Moab to the land of Israel—“at the beginning of the barley harvest” (Ruth 1:22).29 Another conjecture is that just as Israel received the Torah on this holiday (Shavu’ot is also called the Festival of Giving of the Torah),30 Ruth the Moabitess took upon herself everything involved in belonging to the Jewish people when she promised Naomi, her mother-in-law, “Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge,

28 See Haim Bentov, “The custom of reading the Book of Ruth on Shavuot,” [Hebrew], in The World of the Tanakh, Megillot (Tel Aviv: Revivim, 1988), 77. 29 H. Cohen, “Conversion” [Hebrew], in The World of the Bible: Ruth, ed. Yair Zakovitch ( Jerusalem: Davidson-Ittai, 1987), 83. 30 See Jacob S. Licht, Time and Holy Days in the Biblical and the Second Commonwealth Periods [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1998).

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I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God” (Ruth 1:16). An additional conjecture, according to an aggadah (legend), notes that King Davidwas born and died on Shavu’ot31. As it is written at the end of the Scroll, David is an offspring of Ruth the Moabitess: “Boaz begot Obed, Obed begot Jesse, and Jesse begot David” (Ruth 4:21-22). This may be the source of the custom which developed in the Diaspora, of gathering at this season and lighting 150 candles, in memory of the death of King David, who was thought to be the composer of the 150 Psalms. We shall note other educational methods found in the Book of Ruth, and which have served as exemplars throughout the ages: all connected with kindness/charity (hessed in Hebrew). Indeed, the praise of kindness is generally seen as the main educational direction of the Book (Ruth 1:8, 2:20, 3:10). The Book tells us of the rewards of kindness received by the main characters (Ruth 4:11–12, 4:17, 4:22). “Rabbi Zeira said: This Book contains no defilement and no purity, no forbidding and no allowing. So why was it written? To teach us the importance of rewarding kindness” (Ruth rabba 2, 15).

b)  A positive view of Ruth the Moabitess One answer to the question of the educational value of reading the Book of Ruth lies in its positive attitude toward “the stranger who lives amongst us.” The Book emphasizes the excellent qualities of Ruth, the Moabitess (the “foreign woman”), and makes it clear that we must judge the stranger, the gentile, in current terms, according to his or her deeds, and avoid prejudging—or in current terms, stereotyping. The opening of the Book tells of Naomi’s and Elimelech’s two sons, Mahlon and Chilion, who married Moabite women. The narrator does not tell us how Naomi, by then a widow, felt about her sons’ choices of wives. This contrasts with the response of Samson’s parents to his choice of a Philistine bride: “Is there no one among the daughters of your own kinsmen and among all our people, that you must go and take a wife from the uncircumcised Philistines?” (Judges 14:3). The warm, indeed loving acceptance of Ruth by Naomi and her kinsfolk in Beit Lehem stands in stark contrast to the fierce opposition to mixed

31 Wahrmann, Nahum. The Holidays and Festivals of the Jewish People [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Ahiasaf, 1966), 193.

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marriages often expressed in the Hebrew Bible. Prior to their entrance to Canaan Moses instructs the people in no uncertain terms: “When the Lord your God brings you to the land that you are about to enter and possess, and He dislodges many nations before you [. . .] You shall not intermarry with them: do not give your daughters to their sons or take their daughters for your sons’ (Deuteronomy 7:1–3).32 Deuteronomy, moreover, contains a specific command against marrying Moabites: “No Ammonite or Moabite shall be admitted into the congregation of the Lord; none of their descendants, even in the tenth generation, shall ever be admitted into the congregation of the Lord” (23:4).33 This is not the Hebrew Bible’s only reference to marriages with Moabites. During the period of Ezra and Nehemiah—the return to Zion after the Babylonian exile: “they read to the people from the Book of Moses, and it was found written that no Ammonite or Moabite might ever enter the congregation of God” (Nehemiah 13:1). During the same period Ezra demanded of the people: “You have trespassed by bringing home foreign women, thus aggravating the guilt of Israel. So now, make confession to the Lord, God of your fathers, and do His will, and separate yourselves from the peoples of the land and from the foreign women” (Ezra 10:10–11). Naomi, however, repeatedly addresses her Moabite daughters-in-law lovingly as “my daughters” (Ruth 1: 11–13); and Ruth is addressed as “my daughter” not only by Naomi, but also by Boaz, her kinsman and soon-to-be husband (Ruth 2:8; 3:10, 11). At the end of the Book, we learn that Ruth is the great-grandmother of King David. In other words, the Book supports the value of treating the stranger with tolerance, indeed affectionately. How do we explain the supportive attitude toward Ruth the Moabitess? After all, Ruth herself is surprised by Boaz’s kindness: “Why are you so kind as to single me out, when I am a foreign woman?” (Ruth 2:10) Boaz answers that: “I have been told of all that you did for your mother-in-law after the death of your husband, how you left your father and mother and the land of your birth and came to a people you had not known before” (Ruth 2:10–11). On the one hand, Boaz’s kind words recall the Divine command to Abraham: “Go forth

32 See also Numbers 25:3–9. 33 Why doesn’t this command apply to Ruth the Moabitess? According to Rabbi Yehudah in the Books of Interpretation, parashat Tetseh, paragraph 39, “The biblical text speaks of males, but not of females. Of Ammonites and Moabites, but not of Ammonitesses or Moabitesses.” I cannot, however, avoid noting that most other biblical commandments are worded in the masculine, but clearly apply to males and females alike: “You (masc.) shall not kill,” etc.

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from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you” (Genesis 12:1). Unlike the patriarch, however, Ruth obeys not a command from God, but rather the “command” of her heart, and does not know what the outcome of her choice will be. Ruth’s use of the term “foreign woman” indeed may remind us of the story of the banishment of the foreign women during the period of Ezra and Nehemiah; yet Naomi and Boaz behave kindly towards Ruth. Perhaps, in other words, the creator of the story of Ruth is hinting at a different way of treating the “foreign woman,” the Other. The Book may implicitly be criticising the attempted exile of the “foreign women” in the time of Ezra and Nehemiah (Ezra 9–10; Nehemiah 10:29–31, 13:24–27). Indeed, research has suggested that the story told in the Book of Ruth argues with the separatist approach mandated by Ezra and Nehemiah.34 Yet I have suggested that the Book of Ruth may conclude with another, less supportive attitude toward the Other. It is true that Boaz marries Ruth (4:13); but we would do well to recall that Ruth had previously renounced her belonging to Moab and left not only her parents but her homeland and religion, and chosen to join her life to Naomi’s and Boaz’s beliefs and people; that is, she effectively put aside central aspects of her previous identity. Nowhere does the Book suggest acceptance of a foreigner who insists on maintaining loyalty to his/her original ethnicity, homeland and religion. Moreover, although it is clear that by marrying Ruth, Boaz was doing God’s will (Ruth 4:13), Ruth is not mentioned again after the birth of Oved. Could this be because her role of “surrogate mother”—that of giving birth to a son and thus continuing Elimelech’s family line—is complete? We then learn that: “Naomi took the child and held it to her bosom. She became its foster mother” (Ruth 4:16). In official documents of adoption in the literature of the ancient East we find that holding the child to one’s bosom is a recognized symbolic and ritual form of adoption.35

34 See Yonina Dor, Were the Foreign Women Really Exiled? The Question of Separatism in the Days of the Return to Zion [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 2006). 35 For a discussion of whether Naomi adopted her grandson Obed, Ruth’s son, see Meir Malul, “Studies in Biblical Legal Symbolism—A Discussion of the Terms kanaph, ehq and hosen/ hesen: Their Meaning and Legal Usage in the Bible and the Ancient Near East,” Shnaton An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies (1985): 191–211. In contrast to Malul, Joseph Fleishman claims that Naomi’s act has no legal significance. See his Parent and Child in Ancient Near East and the Bible ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1998), 48.

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In any case, its sounds as if Ruth did not raise her son. What is the meaning of “foster mother” in the Bible and how does it apply to Naomi? In the Book of Esther we learn that Mordecai was his cousin’s “foster parent” after her parents’ deaths: Mordecai “was foster father to Hadassah—that is, Esther—his uncle’s daughter, for she had neither father nor mother. [. . .] when her father and mother died, Mordecai adopted her as his daughter” (Esther 2:7). The Book of Ruth does not tell us of Ruth’s death. Therefore, we cannot avoid the question of why Ruth did not apparently raise her son. Even the neighboring women, who name the child Oved, note that “A son is born to Naomi!” (Ruth 4:17)—not to Ruth. I should like to suggest that verse 17 functions as a “reversal ending,” or perhaps as a “reversal verse.” The reversal ending is a familiar literary device—recently explicated by Yairah Amit36—whose purpose is to cause the reader to entertain the possibility of a different understanding of the story. The reversal ending results from tension between the story’s ending and what is told prior to the ending; this tension creates in the reader the need to reread the story in the light of the “reversal.”37 At this point I should like to raise another possibility: perhaps Ruth was not allowed to raise her child because she was a foreign woman, a Moabitess.38 The text does not make explicit the idea that it would be inappropriate for a woman who is “an outsider” to raise the grandfather of King David. Yet even though Ruth cleaved to Naomi and freely renounced her people, may not the narrator be expressing discomfort with the thought that something of Ruth’s original “Moabiteness” may adhere to her son? Should this be the case, the generally upbeat, even optimistic ending of the Book is valid for Naomi, but not for Ruth. Naomi’s friends tell her that “[Oved] will renew your life and sustain your old age”—but if Ruth does not raise her son, the Book’s ending is sad for Naomi’s daughter-in-law who loves her “and is better to her than seven sons” (Ruth 4:15). Let us sum up the text’s overall optimistic approach with a short discussion of the Book’s attitude toward the poor and the weak—the stranger, the orphan, the widow. The Book of Ruth encourages assistance to the weak: the verb leket (glean) appears twelve times in chapter 2 and serves as a leitwort. The harvesters

36 See Yairah Amit, “Endings—Especially Reversal Endings,” Scriptura 87 (2004), 213–226. 37 See Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg, “Was Lot a Good Host? Was Lot saved from Sodom as a Reward for His Hospitality?,” in Universalism and Particularism at Sodom and Gomorrah: Essays in Memory of Ron Pirson, ed. Diana Lipton (Atlanta: SBL, 2012), 134–162. 38 Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg, “Why Didn’t Ruth the Moabite Raise Her Child?” in In The Arms Of Biblical Women, ed. John T. Greene and Mishael M. Caspi (New Jersey: Gorgias Press, 2013), 281–300.

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must leave the pe’ah (edge) of the field unharvested for the poor. The farmers of Beit Lehem carry out the commands from Leviticus (Leviticus 19:9–10) and Deuteronomy as to making part of the harvest available to the poor: “When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook (forget, i.e., shich’ihah) a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow—in order that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings” (Deuteronomy 24:19). The three parts of the command—leket, pe’ah, shich’ihah—enabled Ruth to provide food for herself and her aged mother-in-law. Ruth the Moabitess, who benefitted from this custom, was, of course poor, widowed, and a stranger. The motif of mercy/charity can serve as an example for generations. We often see in the praise accorded to mercy the main educational trend of the Book of Ruth (1:8, 2:20, 3:10). We are told of the reward and mercy received by all of the characters (4:11–12, 4:17, 22). In the words of Rabbi Zeira: “This Scroll contains neither impurity nor purity, neither forbidding nor permission; so why was it written? To teach us how good the reward is for those who give charity” (Ruth rabba 2:15).

6)  The Educational Contribution of the Sabbath throughout the Ages (Ledorotam) The Israelite people shall keep the shabbath, observing the shabbath throughout the ages (ledorotam). (Exodus 31:16)

We shall conclude this journey through the Jewish calendar with the Sabbath. Unlike all other festivals and holy days, the Sabbath—the Seventh Day—comes around every week. According to the Jerusalem Talmud the command to keep the Sabbath (mitzvat hashabbat) bears the same weight as all other commands of the Torah together (Nedarim, end of chap. 3). What does this mean for the Jew who does not devote his or her life to keeping the 613 mitzvot? What, then, is the educational message of the Sabbath, which makes it considered so vital throughout the generations? When first mentioned (Genesis 2:2), the Sabbath is called the seventh day: “God ceased/rested on the seventh day from all the work that He had done” during the previous six days of the Creation. On each day—one through six—the Deity created something new; on the Sabbath day He did not create anything. The verb sh-b-at expresses the unique nature of the Sabbath, the day

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of rest on which God ceased/rested from all work. This day is different from all other days of the week in that God blessed and sanctified it. We might have expected that day six, on which human beings were created, would receive preferential treatment. Yet the narration of the Deity’s creation on this day is the same as the first five days, both as to linguistic-syntactic form and content. The depiction of each day concludes with “And there was evening and there was morning.” The Creation involved making order out of the preceding chaos. The exemplary order of the six days of the creation is clearly reflected in formulaic, i.e., repetitive language. There is thus a correspondence between the content—making order—and the form, the language, describing it. On the sixth day, as detailed at the end of chapter 1, the story reaches its climax with the creation of man and woman (“male and female He created them,” Genesis 1:27): the human is the crowning glory of the Creation. Why, then, is the Sabbath so different from the first six days? Or perhaps we should ask ourselves: what is the climax of the story of the Creation—the creation of man on the sixth day (the end of chapter 1), or God’s ceasing (resting) from work on the seventh day (the opening of chapter 2)? This question has two implications. The first was famously expressed by Ahad Ha’am (Asher Ginzburg), the acknowledged founder of cultural Zionism (1856–1927): “It is possible to claim—without exaggeration—that more than the Jewish people kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath kept the Jewish people.”39 The second implication is expressed by a well-known Chinese folk tale: A beggar accumulated two pennies per day. When asked how and why he made do with a mere two pennies, he answered that “I need one coin to buy a bowl of rice, so that I have what to live on. I need the second coin to buy a flower, in order to have what to live for.” Or in paraphrase: The first six days of the week are for work, so that we have what to live on. The Sabbath, like the flower, which enriches our lives with beauty and pleasure, gives us what to live for. Teachers know that one of the strongest educational tools is personal example. As told in the story of the Creation, God created man—Adam—in His image, after His likeness (Genesis 1:26). Therefore, man should take the

39 Ahad Ha’am, The Complete Writings of Ahad Ha’am [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Dvir, 1947), 286. Ahad Ha’am is known as the founder of cultural Zionisim.

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Deity as his/her exemplar and behave like Him—i.e., on the seventh day of the week Adam should identify with God by ceasing from work and resting. In a later, post-Edenic period, the command to remember the Sabbath is the basis of the expectation that an employer will enable his employees to rest on the sabbath day: On the seventh day God finished the work that He had been doing, and he ceased/rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done (Genesis 2:2). Just as God rested after completing six days of work, man is commanded to take a personal example from the Deity, to identify with Him, by resting from all work on the seventh day. The Bible’s second rationale for “keeping the Sabbath” is as a way of remembering—throughout the ages—the people’s period of slavery in Egypt. The right to a weekly day of rest contrasts with our forefathers’ non-stop slave labor (Exodus 1:13-14). This predicts the command given to the people before their entrance to Canaan as to giving a day of rest to one’s male and female slaves, to “the stranger in your settlements,” and even to “your ox, or your ass, or any of your cattle,” so that “they may rest as you do” (Deuteronomy 5:14). In Exodus God tells Moses that the Sabbath must be kept throughout the generations: And the Lord said to Moses: Speak to the Israelite people and say: Nevertheless, you must keep My sabbaths, for this is a sign between Me and you throughout the ages, that you may know that I the Lord have consecrated you. [. . .] The Israelite people shall keep the sabbath, observing the sabbath throughout the ages as a covenant for all time (Exodus 31:12–13, 16). In this book I suggest that the various days of mourning spread throughout the Jewish calendar may be perceived as a burden by young people. The Sabbath observances may therefore both enable Jews to rest once a week, as well as mandate a day of joy once a week. Over the years, the custom developed of not keeping the Shiv’ah on the Sabbath. Friends do not visit a house of mourning on the Sabbath day that falls during the week of the Shiv’ah. The source of this custom is probably the Book of Isaiah: “call the sabbath ‘delight’” (Isaiah 58:13), whence the common expression oneg shabbat, denoting an enjoyable Friday-evening celebration.

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Would Isaiah’s words— “call the sabbath ‘delight’”—lead all Jews, whatever their level of religious observance, to celebrate the Sabbath as a day of joy!

*** To sum up this chapter on the festivals and holy days as educational tools: I have presented a selection of examples intended to emphasize the educational role played by the holidays in shaping identity and building a sense of belonging throughout the generations. We began with an overview of the five Scrolls whose reading forms a central part of the observance of the various holidays, as well as the Book of Jonah, which is read on Yom Kippur. The Book provides an example of the importance of “training a lad in his own way.” This way is an exemplary educational method. I have, moreover, suggested the educational value of reading the five scrolls in public. We have already seen the importance of the public reading of the weekly Torah portion, which includes the haftarah (readings from the prophets). Public reading of the Book of Ruth, and the other four Scrolls, serves a similar purpose. If we view these readings together with reading of the Psalms which is part of almost every Jewish religious and social occasion, we see that reading, throughout the year, forms an educational continuum. Indeed, the Sages developed an educational insight as to the utility of transmission of tradition via public reading: the celebrants are inculcated with a sense of cultural, religious and national identity and of belonging to their people, through regularly hearing these texts, which instill a linkage to the past, to Jewish culture and traditions. We then examined the commandments that form part of the observance of Sukkot and their educational value. Discussing the celebration of Purim enabled us to question the educational value of customs connected with costumes (i.e., changing one’s appearance) and drinking of alcohol. The customary public reading aloud of the Book of Ruth on Shavu’ot raised the issue of the educational value of public reading of texts as a means of strengthening one’s sense of belonging to the Jewish people. Moreover, Ruth’s story enables us to ponder social issues which are no less important today than they were close to three millennia ago: charity, mercy and acceptance of the Other—the stranger, the orphan, the widow, the poor. We have concluded with the Shabbat—the day of rest and delight. In this chapter I present examples taken from Jewish holidays which show the holidays as an educational tool. At this point there are two notes for your attention. If we follow a child’s journey through the days of mourning in

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the Jewish calendar and if we count up the days in the Jewish calendar we have about sixty days (two months out of the twelve) of mourning. Salo Baron, the great historiographer, wrote: “All my life—throughout the last forty years—I have struggled against the prevalent idea that Jewish history is one big ‘vale of tears.’”40 When we place exaggerated emphasis on our people’s suffering as part of our observation of a holiday, we risk distancing young people from the holiday, and eventually making it more difficult for them to identify with our people. I should like to suggest that while remembering our people’s suffering throughout the generations, we should aim to emphasize the positive aspects of various events. An expansion of this important issue is found in chapter 8, a discussion of the shaping of the Jewish calendar from the viewpoint of a Jewish child. Secondly, I would like to recommend that anyone visiting Israel should visit the renewed Museum of the Jewish People at Beit Hatfutsot (ANU) in Tel Aviv. ANU, the Museum of the Jewish People,41 celebrates the multiculturalism of Jewish diversity and adopts an inclusive, pluralistic approach. In the words of Dr. Orit Shaham-Gover, chief curator of ANU: “The visitor to the museum is overwhelmed by a feeling of optimism; of joy and pride. . . . At the beginning of the twenty-first century let us put aside the position of victim and replace the cry of ‘oy vey’ with ‘hallelujah.’” She adds that “Our first question was what we want to say about the Jewish people. As a result, we concluded that the Jewish people is characterized by diversity: there are many groups and sub-groups; many cultures and subcultures; many and varied identities.”42

40 Salo Baron, Jewish History [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Masada, 1960), 29–30. 41 For more information about ANU—Museum of the Jewish People, its new core exhibition, and all of its programs and offerings (in-person and online), visit anumuseum.org.il. 42 Orit Shaham-Gover, “ANU—Museum of the Jewish People,” Israel Today, April 16, 2021.

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Holidays as Tools for Shaping Jewish Identity The three fundamental concepts, which underlie this book, are identity, belonging, and remembrance. The interconnections between the three form the basis on which the Jewish holidays were established and shaped. This chapter opens with a definition of the first two concepts: identity and belonging, including an overview of how the two are reflected in the holidays, and how the holidays contribute to shaping identity and belonging.

1)  Who Are We? What Is Our Identity? When speaking of the identity of anyone belonging to the Jewish people, I propose not to engage with the religious-halakhic question represented in a sort of code as “Who is a Jew?” For the purposes of this book, it is more meaningful to define the concept of identity, as reflected in, and by, the Jewish holidays: how do the holidays contribute to the creation of a Jewish identity and a sense of belonging to the Jewish people? The precursor of these questions is: “What is my identity as a human being?” Yet young people of my generation who grew up in Zionist youth movements in the Diaspora probably recall lengthy debates—often held around a campfire at night – as to “What does it mean to me to be a Jew?” and on a second level: “Does my sense of belonging to the Jewish people entail a commitment to making aliya?” Many sabras like me who grew up in Zionist youth movements in Israel recall fierce debates: “Am I an ‘Israeli’ or a ‘Jew’?”43

43 I highly recommend A. B. Yehoshua, In Defense of Normality: Five Essays on Zionism [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Shocken, 1980), 105–140.

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At the time—some 50-55 years ago, when Israeli pride was at its height – we tended to define ourselves first as Israelis. As time went by, however, we began to understand that the problem lay in the question itself. There is no dichotomy here; we are both Israeli and Jewish. We are human beings; as such, we belong to the Jewish people; and as Jews we are Israelis. There is no need for fixing an order of preference. During the time of the translation of this book into English, we have witnessed the resuscitation of the old canard, according to which Jews who live in and are citizens of countries other than Israel are accused of “dual loyalty,” or, in fact, of being more loyal to the Jewish homeland and people than to the country where they live, and to which they owe allegiance as citizens. Since such an accusation is not generally leveled at, for example, the descendants of French people who immigrated to the United States, one can only assume that it bears more than a whiff of antisemitism. Yet many Jews who do not live in Israel rejoice at the existence of the nation-state of the Jewish people. Thus for many non-Israeli Jews the symbols of the country bear a special meaning. There is no conflict, in my opinion, between one’s identity as a Jew and one’s identity as an American, a Canadian, or an Australian. The question of “dual loyalty” may very well be an excuse for antisemitism. During almost two thousand years of exile our people maintained our identity as Jews. How did this happen? Many believe that our religion enabled us to keep our special identity.44 Other thinkers, among whom is numbered Jean-Paul Sartre,45 argue that antisemitism—hatred of the Other; refusal to include strangers, those who are different, in one’s community—is what has kept us together and maintained our common sense of identity. Some might even say that antisemitism has provided an answer to the question of “Who Is a Jew?” According to A. B. Yehoshua: The Holocaust has provided final, incontrovertible proof that one cannot escape one’s Jewish identity. Jews who had attempted to assimilate or even to deny their Jewish identity were returned

44 See Ahad Ha’am, At the Crossroads [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1981), article 51: “The Sabbath of Zionism,” rpt. Hashiloach 3, no. 6 (1898). His answer, for example, has gained the status of a proverb: “It is possible to claim, without any exaggeration, that more than the Jewish people kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath kept the Jewish people.” 45 See Jean-Paul Sartre, Antisemite and Jew [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Sifriyat hapoʻalim, 1988).

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against their will to the bosom of their people. It is thus preferable for us to identify willingly as Jews.46 One’s identity with an idea, a group, another person, is surely central to his or her own self-definition, as well as to how others view him. I am reminded of the biblical story, in the Book of Numbers, of the spies who report to Moses that it would not be possible for the Israelites to attack the people currently occupying the promised land, “for it is stronger than we. [. . .] We saw the Nephilim [giants] there—the Anakites [giants] are part of the Nephilim—and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them” (Numbers 13:31, 33; my italics—I. P.). As Rashi explains, “As a man sees / accepts himself, so do others see him.”47 If we see ourselves as grasshoppers, let us not be surprised when others see us in the same way. And what is true for the individual is also true for a people.48 Our sense of the social “circles” to which we belong is another component of our identity. These circles often touch or overlap; our sense of belonging to the Jewish people includes our awareness of a common fate and common memory. This applies to events and experiences which our people underwent in recent times and the distant past. The Jewish holidays recall—year after year— our common past and present via ceremonies and other shared experiences. Our discussion of the definition of identity is not merely theoretical. “Identity” is woven through the reality of our daily lives. During the past two centuries the circles of our identity as Jews have undergone many changes. This identity is less uniform and homogeneous than it once was. Although the distant past saw a number of currents within Judaism (Pharisees, Saducees, Essenes), over the last two hundred years our peoplehood has become much more varied—and this is praiseworthy. Considering the variety of “faces” of contemporary Jewish identity, there can be no one answer to the question “Who is a Jew?” I therefore believe that there cannot be one single answer to the question of what to remember and what to forget from the Jewish past. To be more specific: I mean which customs/observances from the past are worthy 46 Yehoshua, In Defense of Normality, 16. 47 See Rashi’s interpretation of this verse. 48 Let us note that the first mention of the children of Israel as a people (‘am) is by a foreign king—Pharaoh, the king of Egypt: “A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph. And he said to his people, ‘Look, the Israelite people [‘am] are much too numerous for us’” (Exodus 1:8–9). It seems that the gentile who defines “who is a Jew” does not differentiate between Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, or unaffiliated Jews. (In the eyes of the Nazis, they are all Jews.)

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of being continued, and which can possibly be put aside. This often raises the issue of how to celebrate the various holidays. Many Jews do not celebrate specific holidays in the exact same way as did their grandparents. We must learn to accept this fact, without feelings of guilt. Awareness, yes. Guilt feelings, no.  Despite the complex and varied reality of our times, the intention of this book is not to deal with issues in which we Jews differ from one another, but rather to focus on the wish to remember and celebrate what we all hold in common. Focusing on what we hold in common, however, does not mean sweeping aside and ignoring our differences. Our common beliefs and ideas begin with the desire to belong, to be part of the Jewish people throughout the generations: past, present, future. If we adopt this inclusive, pluralistic approach to our lives, they will be more harmonious, beautiful, complete. This is the way to achieve harmony in all of our various circles, in every place and at all times, both “then” and now. As noted, our central interest in identity is from the viewpoint of the link between our Jewish identity and our holidays. Vis-à-vis the question of how the holidays assist in constructing a worldview and shaping identity and the sense of belonging, Sagit Mor writes: Shaping and consolidating one’s identity is achieved first and foremost via sensual experience—colors, sounds, tastes, smells. During adolescence the meaning of the experience deepens, as the youngster comes to understand the abstract, symbolic meaning of his / her early sensual experiences.49

2)  Individual Identity and Identity with the Jewish People For the purpose of this book, we have thus far defined the concept of identity in a way which exemplifies the contribution of the holidays to constructing a sense of identity and belonging. Our personal-individual identity is woven into our Jewish identity. Each of us has his or her own, individual identity. Any overall generalization is problematic; are all members of the same family identical in their looks,

49 Sagit Mor, “On Passover: Senses, Experience, and Education” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo’ed: Passover, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2005), 2.

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personality, interests, education? Of course not! We should therefore be sensitive in maintaining a dialogue between “personal identity” and “national identity”; after all, the two exist side by side. Our aim, in other words is that our sense of national identity does not repress individual identity. In order to achieve this, we must develop an awareness and acceptance of the fact that our identities—personal and national/ethnic—are composed of a variety of identities. Moreover, we need not fear this variety. Just as the Midrash tells us that “There are seventy faces to the Torah” (Bamidbar rabbah 13:15), we would do well to accept the many faces/facets of our Jewish identity. In other words, let us rejoice in a variety of identities which results in a variety of ways to celebrate the Jewish holidays. It is important to enable each unique individual to express him/herself freely, and to ensure that the individual is not shunted aside by the various circles to which he belongs. My personal, individual Jewish identity is inclusive; I welcome a variety of Jewish identities; this viewpoint is what is meant by pluralism. If one believes, as I do, in the validity of other streams of Jewishness than my own (as well as in the validity of the practices of other nationalities), I will neither reject them, nor allow them to reject my ways of expressing my belonging to the Jewish people. This is a central value towards which I suggest educating our daughters and sons.

3)  Is There Only One “Correct” Way to Celebrate the Jewish Holidays? When I sit around with friends and discuss questions connected to Jewish identity, there is always someone who claims that such issues “belong” to the orthodox religious sector of Israeli society. This claim bears more than a whiff of self-deprecation. Those of us who do not belong to the orthodox sector should not give this sector exclusive “custody” over our traditions and holidays, and not over the Tanakh. Just as the Book of Books belongs to all of us, with our variety of Jewish identities, so do our holidays. The Hebrew version of this book contains a request to the Jewish community in Israel: Let us not have a sense of self-effacement vis-à-vis those who represent one sector of our people, i.e., orthodox/halakhic Judaism. This request is no less valid when aimed at our sisters and brothers who do not live in Israel. Each and every one has an equal right to read and understand the Tanakh. Indeed, the Tanakh is our constitutive common denominator, and should be seen as such by the Jewish people as a whole.

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As an educator it is important to me to point out that self-deprecation is usually a negative quality, whether in the case of a wife towards her husband, a child towards his or her parents, and even a pupil towards a teacher. It is thus vital that we recognize the Jewish holidays as the experiential basis for all Jews; we should not grant any one Jewish sector special “rights” over them. Such selfdeprecation can result in a lack of creativity, in a lack of searching for relevance in our observances of the holidays. This lack often leads those for whom the traditional observances are irrelevant to have a sense of alienation from their Jewishness. This is especially true for Jews who do not belong to any organized religious framework—they should be encouraged to find and develop ways of celebrating the holidays which are meaningful to them.

4)  Pluralism and Tolerance Our approach to the Jewish continuum does not negate the multiple facets of Jewish identity. (Amos Oz and Fania Oz-Salzberger)50

As I use the two terms, tolerance is the legitimizing of the fact that groups of people living in the same society/community often differ as to opinions, practices, behaviors, whether ethnic, religious, or cultural. In other words, he or she who is tolerant may not rejoice over this heterogeneity, but does see those who are different as equals. Pluralism, as I use it, means viewing positively the existence of multiple ethnic, religious, cultural groups in one society. The approach which I call pluralistic does not constitute a threat to maintaining Jewish identity. For the purposes of this book, the pluralistic society which we should aim to build is c’lal Yisrael, world Jewry; the multiple groups are various religious, cultural, and ethnic streams within the Jewish people.

5)  What Is a “Melting Pot”? In the Hebrew version of this book, I refer to the example of the “melting pot” approach to the cultural, social, and linguistic “absorption” of olim hadashim—new

50 Amos Oz and Fania Oz-Salzberger, Jews and Words, 2014, 243.

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immigrants – which was a central policy in Israel during the late 1940s through the 1950s, and which is now generally seen as having had unfortunate results. Since the concept of the “melting pot” comes from the period of massive immigration to the United States, I believe that this section will be of interest to the readers of the English version of this book. The pattern described by the term “melting pot” stands in opposition to “pluralism.” The idea of the melting pot was that immigrants from a variety of cultures and ethnicities would be integrated into a new cultural entity, usually one that was created by the more “veteran” immigrants. This concept expressed the common educational and cultural vision of the veteran leaders of Israel, according to which the masses of new immigrants to the young State from all the Jewish diasporas would be formed into a common, unified cultural, linguistic essence. One small example: immigrant children in the 1940s and 1950s were strongly encouraged in their schools to change their first names: Boris became Baruch; Pearl became P’nina; Aziz became Uzi; Freha became Yaffa. The aim was not only to encourage the use of the Hebrew language, but to discourage the children from looking and sounding “foreign,” “ghetto-like.” By the late 1980s–1990s, when I was teaching in junior and senior high school, the Ministry of Education ordered schools to refrain from suggesting that immigrant children change their names. The reason was an understanding that one’s name is a central aspect of his or her identity; the school should not be hinting that there is something less valuable, less worthy, in the cultural, linguistic identity which the child or teenager brings with him to his new homeland. The idea of the “melting pot,” even though motivated by a possibly positive idea—the creation of a “new Israeli Jew”—left scars on many immigrant communities, who were made to feel that the culture and traditions which they brought from the “old country” were of less value than the new Israeli culture. The new immigrants were expected to adopt quickly the culture, traditions, language of their new Jewish homeland. The “veteran” Israelis, most of whom had themselves recently immigrated from the diaspora, did not understand that the formation of a common Israeli identity might take many decades; and it certainly cannot be attained by instilling in many of the new immigrants a sense of self-deprecation. From the 1970s on, the validity of the “melting pot” concept has been challenged. During the massive waves of immigration from the former USSR, as well as from Ethiopia, Israeli leaders—whether political, cultural, educational—have been trying to learn from the mistakes of the previous generation.

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This book expresses support for cultural pluralism among Jews and Jewish communities, and shows how this approach can be applied to the celebration of our holidays. We should not aim to create a new “melting pot,” but rather to create a society with a high level of solidarity, in which we cherish and take into consideration the variety of Jewish traditions from which we come.

6)  Uniformity and Pluralism in the Story of the Tower of Babel In this and the following section I propose to look at pluralism, not so much in contrast with tolerance, as in contrast with uniformity, i.e., being “the same” as others. At the basis of our discussion of the holidays lies the understanding that differences of opinion, and even arguments, among Jews, do not threaten our ability to have a sense of belonging to one people. This understanding dates back to the literature of the Sages. I should like to focus on the story of the Tower of Babel as an example of the polemics between the approach represented by the “melting pot,” the search for uniformity, and a pluralistic approach. The story opens with the words: “Everyone on earth had the same language [safah] and the same words” (Genesis 11:1). Isn’t this good? Indeed, what can be bad about a situation in which all people speak the same language and understand one another? Let us begin with the word safah. The most common meanings are, of course, language, speech. Yet the expression which follows, i.e., the same words” [d’varim ahadim]—in its literary context—can support the interpretation of “the same thoughts,” a uniformity of ideas, a kind of ideological collectivism which is familiar to those who lived under Soviet communism at its most dogmatic. In the words of Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Orthodox thinker, polymath, and writer on Jewish thought and western philosophy: In a world in which there is only one language and the same words, man is totally enslaved [. . .]—there is no tyranny greater than unity and uniformity when they are imposed, which leave no room for differences of opinion and for struggles between opposing ideas [. . .]. The Lord of the Universe bestowed His favor on human beings by endowing them with a variety of

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languages; this enables a variety of cultures, viewpoints, ideas, ways of life, regimes.51 Neither the biblical narrator nor the Deity Himself seem to view the uniformity of language depicted at the beginning of Genesis 11 as desirable. Did the people of Babel sin in their attempt to build the Tower? No direct answer is provided. In the context of this book, the story of the Tower of Babel provides an example of the rejection of uniformity. God “confounded the speech of the whole earth, [. . .] and scattered them over the face of the whole earth” (Genesis 11:9). Despite the common view that the Deity’s confounding of peoples’ speech and scattering them over the earth is a punishment (for hubris, perhaps?), Leibowitz sees God’s act, as we have already noted, as an act of divine favor.

7)  Uniformity and Pluralism in the Vision of the End of Days One of the most familiar and best loved of the Hebrew Bible’s prophetic texts is the opening of Isaiah 2, including as it does the vision of the Lord’s House, to which: Many peoples shall go and say: “Come, Let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, To the House of the God of Jacob; That He may instruct us in His ways, And that we may walk in His paths.” (Isaiah 2:1) Upon receiving God’s instruction and judgment, people of all nations: Shall beat their swords into plowshares And their spears into pruning hooks: Nation shall not take up Sword against nation; They shall never again know war. (Isaiah 2:2–4)

51 Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Discussions of the Weekly Torah Portion 1976–1982 [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Keter, 2000), 31.

H o l i d a y s a s To o l s f o r S h a p i n g J e w i s h I d e n t i t y

As I have noted elsewhere,52 the vision of the End of Days appears in the Bible in two similar but not identical prophecies: the well-known Isaiah 2:2–4 and the lesser-known Book of Micah 4:1–5. Similarities of subject, language and structure reinforce the assumption of a literary link between the two visions; in other words, one prophet knew and may even have quoted the other without mentioning him. The fascinating question (which is beyond the scope of this book) of who quoted whom has occupied generations of commentators and scholars. One reason for comparing the two prophetic messages is to present an example of different messages vis-à-vis the same topic in the Hebrew Bible. Biblical scholars of many persuasions have noted that the various texts of the Tanakh were composed at different times, and by a number of writers. Throughout the centuries since the canonization of the Tanakh53 some interpreters have attempted to “reconcile” two or more versions of the same event, process, idea, as described in two or more Books, or even in two places in the same Book. Other commentators and scholars, among whom I am numbered, take a pluralistic approach, arguing for the desirability of a variety of understandings of the same event or idea. My second reason for comparing the two messages is to focus on one important message which appears in the prophecy of Micah, but not in Isaiah. Therefore, despite their close resemblance, each vision points toward a somewhat different message. The vision of the End of Days in Isaiah tells of all the nations going up to Jerusalem and saying to one another: “Come, Let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob; That He may instruct us in His ways, and that we may walk in His paths. For instruction (Torah) shall come forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem” (Isaiah 2:3). The impression is of a vision of perfect harmony, even of uniformity, and depicts a reality in which the idea of universal monotheistic worship (that is, all will worship the same God) is realized.

52 Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg, “Two Readings of the Vision of the End of Days: The Peace Vision of the End of Days in Isaiah (2:2–5) and the Peace Vision in Micah (4:1–5),” in The Fruits of Madness: Perspectives on the Prophetic Movements in Three Traditions. Essays from the Seminar in Biblical Characters in Judaism, Christianity, Islam and in Literature, ed. John Tracy Greene (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2016), 133–146. 53 Evidence suggests that the canonization of the Tanakh was a process that took place between 400 BCE and 100 CE. There is no apodictic proof of an exact date.

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Micah’s message, almost identical to Isaiah’s in verses 1–4, concludes with a call—not present in Isaiah—to all nations including his own, to go forward together, but each in the name of its own god: For (‫ )כי‬all the peoples walk Each in the names of its gods [my italics—I. P.], We [the Jews] will walk In the name of the Lord our God Forever and ever. (Micah 4:5) I am struck by the idea—clearly expressed by Micah – that non-Jewish nations can learn from the God of Jacob without effacing themselves and their faith in their own gods. In modern terms, Micah’s message is not merely tolerant, but even pluralistic. All peoples—with their multiplicity of religious beliefs and deities – will learn how to make peace from Jacob’s God: “And they shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks” (Isaiah 2:4; Micah 4:3). Yet, although both prophets bear a vision of peace, they have different ways of realizing it. It is to be earnestly hoped that their common vision of universal acceptance and peace will come to pass, preferably in our day rather than at the End of Days. To sum up: many modern readers are likely to prefer Micah’s message as presented here to Isaiah’s message of uniformity. It is important to me to emphasize Micah’s pluralistic approach as an example of the Hebrew Bible’s inclusion of a variety of ideas on various topics. It is to the eternal credit of the editors of the Tanakh that they chose to allow the expression of various opinions.

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Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People Our identity is simultaneously composed of a sense of belonging to various groups. “These different identities may be described as circles: each circle represents one group to which we belong. Some of the groups overlap; at times there are groups-within-groups; and in some cases there is no connection between the groups.”54 One’s identity is based not only on his or her belonging to a people, but also on the sense of belonging to a place, to one’s homeland. In the words of poet Saul Tchernichovsky: “A human being is nothing more nor less than a paradigm of the landscape of his homeland.” The focus of this book is on identity and belonging to the Jewish people, as reflected in the Jewish holidays. In the previous chapter we discussed our identity as Jews, born into the people of Israel (our Jewish identity). In this chapter we investigate the connection between identity and belonging. If belonging is compared to a circle, and simultaneously identity is compared to a circle, we can say that these two circles partially overlap in their definitions. We are each born into a group, to which we feel that we belong, and according to which we learn to identify ourselves. Some of these groups are very small: the family, for example, which provides intimacy and warmth. Others are large: our people, which can give us strength and perspective. When speaking of the feeling of belonging to someone or something, the questions arise: “Whom do I belong to?” and “Who—or what—belongs to me?” One of the first words used by little children is “my” or “mine,” as in “Gimme that doll! It’s mine!” which is so familiar to young parents. The nuclear

54 See Donniel Hartman, Circles of Belonging [Hebrew] Jerusalem: Shalom Hartman Institute, 2008), 19.

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family—parents, siblings, grandparents—is the center of the child’s world. During the teenage years the youngster’s focus moves to his or her peer group. At the same time the young person becomes more and more aware of belonging to an ethnic or national group. This awareness, however, has its beginnings in earliest childhood, when the little child is exposed to his or her people’s holidays. Our hope, of course, is that the holidays will instil in the child a sense of identity vis-à-vis the people to which he belongs. As far back as Genesis, the sense of belonging is seen as necessary for the human being: “The Lord God said, ‘It is not good for man to be alone’” (Genesis 2:18). If I may be allowed to paraphrase “It is not good for man to be alone,” I would suggest that “It is good for man to belong.” The sense of belonging to someone and something is important at every age and every time. Let us now look at two complementary circles: the immediate family, which offers us intimacy, warmth, love; and the wider circle of belonging to a people. The latter circle stretches through the generations and provides strength, security, fortitude, a sense of continuity, indeed, of permanence. This circle thus helps us to cope with the fear of death. The double feeling of belonging—to a family and to a people—should not be taken for granted, but rather must be constantly nurtured. The holidays are a main means of nurturing our sense of belonging, both to our families and to our people.

1)  Belonging to the Past and the Present: Ushpizin and the Flag of Israel Michal Gur Aryeh speaks of the sense that at one and the same time, on a fixed date, you, your family, and your people celebrate the same holiday: “all the generations since this festival or holy day began, and all future generations. Suddenly you feel that you are a link in an unending chain—only a link, but one which connects the past and the future, and you are filled with a great sense of responsibility, humility and pride.”55 In their discussion of belonging simultaneously to a common past and the common present, the authors of The Book of Jewish Holidays write: The holidays are the thread which enables us to create our sense of belonging to time and place. When we celebrate a holiday, we

55 Michal Gur Aryeh, And You Shall Tell Your Son: Festivals and Holy Days in Israel [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Sifriyat hapo‘alim, 1981), 12, n.7.

Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People

connect with past generations who have celebrated and with our people who are currently celebrating, both in our country and all over the world.56 The sense of belonging to the Jewish people—similar to the sense of belonging to our family—is reflected on two levels: the first level is diachronic, viewing the sense of belonging to the people historically, throughout the generations. The second level is synchronic, viewing belonging to a people in the present, currently. These two levels are intertwined, and both build and shape identity and the sense of belonging to our people. They are strengthened when celebrating holidays, which appeal to all the senses at once: colors, sounds, tastes, smells, etc.57 We shall now focus on examples of belonging on the “horizontal” level, in order to attempt to delineate the borders between the traditional commandment “See this and sanctify it” (Rosh hashana 20:1)58 and the possibility of making changes in our holiday observances. My approach is that it is important both to preserve our traditions and cultural customs, and to encourage the development of new ways of observing our holidays and holy days, in order that they may continue to be relevant to us. Let us look at ways in which the sense of belonging to a common past and present are created during the holidays: the custom of ushpizin (hospitality) on Sukkot; and the Israeli flag.

a) The Ushpizin custom—Sukkot hospitality The Aramaic word ushpizin means guests. It is, by the way, the source of hospital and hostel in English and other European languages.59 How does this custom strengthen our sense of belonging, both to the past and the present? Ushpizin began among the kabbalists of Safed in the sixteenth century,60 who decided to symbolically host respected guests in their sukkah: Abraham, Isaac,

56 Talmi et al., Holiday Rituals, 9. 57 See Mor, “Passover, Senses, Experience and Education,” 2. 58 The Talmud’s commentary applies to Exodus 12:1–2: “The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: ‘This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months, it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.’” 59 Ushpizin is hospes in Latin. 60 Wahrmann, The Holidays and Festivals of the Jewish People, 66.

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Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, David61—thereby fulfilling the commandment of offering hospitality. The importance of receiving guests dates back to biblical times: in Genesis 18 Abraham is pictured as a perfect host, receiving into his home three passing strangers, who later turn out to be angels. It is thus not surprising that centuries later Abraham himself becomes an honored guest in the sukkah. Ushpizin expresses the celebrants’ feeling of belonging to the people of their forefathers from the biblical period. At the same time, we invite not only family and friends, but the needy, thereby enabling them to take part in the celebration. In order for the joy of the festival to be complete, it must be shared with others. As it says in the Bible regarding Sukkot: [. . .] you shall hold the Feast of Booths for seven days. You shall rejoice in your festival, with your son and daughter, your male and female slave, the Levite, the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow in your communities (Deuteronomy 16:13–14). The individual sukkah is at the same time a family sukkah, and David’s sukkah.62 The latter symbolizes the people of Israel in the Promised Land. Let us note the ethical, educational importance of receiving guests, as well as the importance of not only rejoicing, but enabling others to rejoice. The custom of ushpizin exemplifies the role of the holidays in combining the sense of belonging to our common Jewish past (hosting such central figures as Abraham, Isaac, Jacob), as well as belonging to a common present—inviting family, friends, strangers, the poor. The sukkah, in other words, connects us all and represents our shared values as Jews.

b)  The flag of Israel The flag of a nation-state is a piece of cloth, on which are often embroidered, appliqued, or printed, symbols of the country which it represents. These symbols

61 Regarding the seven guests: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, David, I would like to thank one of the anonymous reviewers who notes: “while the author orders the seven shepherds in proper historical sequence, he should at least footnote the fact that the Kabbalists put Joseph next to last, corresponding to the next to the last of the ten sefirot. See Daniel M. Horwitz, A Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism Reader (Philadelphia: JPS, 2016), 339.” 62 See the prophet Amos: “In that day, I will set up again the fallen booth of David: I will mend its breaches and set up its ruins anew. I will build it firm as in the days of old” (Amos 9:11).

Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People

may be historical, cultural, religious, geographical. Whether or not there are such symbols on the flag, the colors of the cloth itself have symbolic meaning. Flags of nation-states, or even of ethnic groups which do not have their own nation-state (such as the Druze, for example), are flown daily in public places, and are part of public ceremonies, on holidays, memorial days, at parades, at school assemblies, and sports events, and indeed on any occasion intended to emphasize the participants’ sense of belonging to the entity represented by the flag. The history of Israel’s flag and its colors and symbols are meaningful to most Jews, including those who do not live in Israel and are not Israeli citizens. Let us follow the development of the flag chronologically. The source of the blue-and-white is the tallit, as detailed in the Torah: The Lord said to Moses as follows: speak to the Israelite people and instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner. That shall be your fringe; look at it and recall all the commandments of the Lord and observe them (Numbers 15:37–39). As is the case with the tallit, men also lay on phylacteries when praying. Israeli journalist and actor Hanoch Daum poses and answers the question of why he lays on phylacteries – t’fillin—also mandated in the Torah: “It makes me feel part of something bigger than myself; part of a tradition and culture which are unique to my people and our ethos.”63 David Wolffsohn (a prominent early Zionist) tells of the first occasion on which the blue-and-white flag was flown: Theodore Herzl asked me to come to Basel in order to take part in the preparations for the First Zionist Congress (1897). One of the questions which arose was: What flag shall we use to decorate the Congress hall? What colors? [. . .] And then I was struck with an idea—we already have a flag, and it’s blue and white. The tallit with which we [men] cover ourselves while praying: this is our symbol. Let us take the tallit out of its case and display it to all Israel and to all the nations. I ordered a blue and white

63 Hanoch Daum, “I believe” [Hebrew], Seven Days, Yediot Aharonot Magazine, February 19, 2016, 22. See Exodus 13:9; Deuteronomy 6:8, for references to phylacteries.

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flag with a Star of David drawn on it. And thus our national flag was born.64 The decision to design the flag of Israel under the inspiration of the tallit is an example of carrying out the instructions in the Torah many generations later (throughout the ages). It is more than that, however. Jews who are not religiously observant, and those who do not wear a tallit or lay on t’fillin when praying (which includes almost all women, of course) have a sense of belonging to a people via seeing the flag, on holidays and other public occasions. The linkage of the flag and the tallit, as well as the linkage of the tallit to the Bible, are concrete, yet symbolic, expressions of the continuity of Jewish tradition.65

2)  Belonging on the “Horizontal” Level: Our Sense of Belonging to Our Contemporaries When we celebrate the Jewish holidays we join with millions of people who are part of the Jewish people in Israel and in the Diaspora; and each of us can connect to these holidays in his own way. (Galpaz-Feller)66

The holidays, in my opinion, are a means of encouraging and concretizing what is common to all of us as Jews; and as Pnina Galpaz-Feller notes, each of us can connect to these days in our own way. During the last two centuries—the modern period—the complex reality of the Jewish experience has created a multi-faceted Jewish identity. It is thus important for us to discuss the sense of belonging on the synchronic, the “horizontal” or contemporary level. The complexity of Jewish identity is reflected in the way we observe our holidays. As I have already noted, changes

64 David Wolffsohn, “How was Our National Flag Born?,” rpt. in Yom-tov Lewinsky, The Book of Holidays [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1963) volume 8, 432. 65 As is the case with the flag, Israeli coins symbolize our sense of belonging to one another in the present and an awareness of our common past. Zionist leaders of the modern period saw themselves as continuing in the path of leaders from biblical times. The first coins minted by the young State of Israel were intended to emphasize continuity, and the connection between the new State and the previous periods of Jewish sovereignty. Similar to the symbolic role of Israeli coins, our holidays are founded on our traditions, beginning with the Hebrew Bible and continuing throughout the generations. 66 Galpaz-Feller, Rediscovering the Holidays, 5.

Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People

in our observation of the festivals and holy days should strengthen their relevance, the sense of identity and identification with our people: we hope that our younger generations will have an understanding of what it means to be Jewish, and will feel that they belong to our people.

a)  How we build a sense of belonging—the Shofar In our search for common denominators between all Jews, let us not posit an opposition between Jews who are religious, whether orthodox, conservative, reform, and those who do not belong to any religious framework (in Israel, referred to as “secular”). I shall now exemplify this via the ceremony of sounding the shofar, as practiced in my kibbutz (Ein Hashofet). A number of years ago I had the honor of leading the ceremony, held at sundown on Rosh Hashana Eve, attended by the whole community and our guests. There were three sounders of the shofar: Shabtai Lazar, a member of the kibbutz who grew up in an observant family in Kiryat Ata, Yaniv Sagee, who was born and grew up in the kibbutz (and is the son of the late Ya’akov Sagee, composer, who came to Israel after surviving the Holocaust), and Stav Dekel, a teenager who is the grandson of founders of Kibbutz Ein Hashofet. Before sounding the shofar, Shabtai shared his family tradition with the community: his grandfather had sounded the shofar in Transylvania; his father, an orthodox Jew, sounded the shofar in the neighborhood synagogue in Israel, in Kiryat Ata; and Shabtai now participates in the Rosh Hashana celebration of Ein Hashofet, a “secular” kibbutz. As moderator of the ceremony, I explained to the community the history of the custom. The shofar is a wind instrument, made from a hollow ram’s horn. The source of the custom is the Bible: The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Speak to the Israelite people thus: In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe complete rest, a sacred occasion commemorated with loud blasts (Leviticus 23:23–24). The blasts of the shofar symbolize and recall the ram in the story of the binding of Isaac (Genesis 22). And as the Rambam has suggested, the blasts of the shofar are a kind of alarm, meant to awaken us and shake us up. Throughout the centuries Jews all over the world have gathered on Rosh Hashana Eve—with family, friends, and fellow community members—in order to listen together to the shofar. The sound should “speak” to each and every one

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of us, whatever our degree of religious observance, and instill in us the sense of belonging to a people, both in the past and at the moment of the ceremony. In Ein Hashofet this is expressed by our local ceremony. Even though our ceremony differs in certain ways from that practiced in orthodox synagogues, it bears, in a way both festive and experiential, the message of our strong sense of belonging to the Jewish people, past and present.

b)  How can the Jew who does not belong to any religious framework express belonging to our people on Yom Kippur? The very fact of posing this question is no less important than its answer. The question itself reflects the desire to belong: indeed, the awareness of this desire is the first step on the way to answering the question. Abba Kovner (1918–1987), poet, artist, commander of the uprising in the Vilna Ghetto during World War II, officer of the Giv’ati Brigade in Israel’s War of Independence, and member of Kibbutz Ein Hahoresh, writes of the sense of belonging: During all of the crises through which I had gone, one thing was not changed: I never ceased to be a believer. Even the greatest breakdown did not break my belief. Belief—at its center is worship; its soul is prayer. True poetry is nothing if not prayer. In my first week in Israel I stood near the Western Wall. My mother, of blessed memory, had left me nothing. After all, we hadn’t said good-bye. I stood a few steps away from the Wall, from its stones. And I felt that I didn’t belong. That I was still rooted in another experience. [. . .] But then someone pulled at my sleeve, and asked me to take part in a minyan. I put on a hat, and joined the minyan. [. . .] This was something Jewish, something uniquely Jewish, to be one of a minyan, to know that the nine need the tenth, and the tenth needs the nine.67 In the above Kovner speaks of the mutuality which is central to belonging, in which each one needs the others and is responsible for the others. The sense of belonging to the Jewish people is encouraged by the way we observe our

67 Abba Kovner, “One of a Minyan” [Hebrew], in On the Narrow Bridge—Oral Essays, ed. Shalom Lurie (Tel Aviv: Sifriyat hapo‘alim, 1981), 121.

Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People

holidays. I thus propose to examine the question of how Jews who do not belong to any religious framework, can relate to Yom Kippur. My attempt at an answer begins with the Bible, where God speaks to Moses, saying: Mark, the tenth day of this seventh month is the Day of Atonement. It shall be a sacred occasion for you: you shall practice self-denial (inui) ‫עינוי‬. [. . .] you shall do no work throughout that day. For it is a Day of Atonement, on which expiation is made on your behalf before the Lord God. [. . .] Do no work whatever, it is a law for all time, throughout the ages in all your settlements. It shall be a sabbath of complete rest for you, and you shall practice self-denial (inui) ‫ ;עינוי‬on the ninth day of the month at evening, from evening to evening, you shall observe this your sabbath (Leviticus 23:27–32). The correspondence between the verb inui (self-denial) and tsom (to fast) 68— which does not appear in Leviticus 23—is pointed out in Isaiah, in an exchange between the people and the Deity: Why, when we fasted (tsamnu), did You not see? When we starved (ininu) our bodies, did You pay no heed? [. . .] Is such the fast (tsom) I desire, A day for men to starve (anot) their bodies? (Isaiah 58:3, 5). Many Jews who do not belong to religious frameworks feel the desire to belong, to be at one with their fellow Jews on Yom Kippur, which is widely considered to be the most sacred day of the Jewish year. On the one hand, they may feel somewhat uncomfortable at the thought that many, or even most of their fellow Jews fast on this day, while they do not. They can and should show sensitivity towards their brothers and sisters who fast by, among other things, not eating in public. But for them the fast itself is not relevant: they do not feel the need to refrain from eating and drinking as a means of begging the Deity’s forgiveness for having committed acts, many of which they do not see as sinful. Yet they do

68 The correspondence between the verbs inui (self-denial) and tsom (to fast) here in Isaiah is probably the cause for reading the passage as part of the Haftarah (a chapter from prophetical books of the Hebrew Bible which accompanies the weekly Torah portion) on Yom Kippur.

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wish to participate in the observance of a day, which for thousands of years has been seen as holy, as a day of awe, for our people. For these Jews it is important to find a way to observe this day, while showing consideration for their fellow Jews. This should reflect their sense of belonging to their people, in a way that is meaningful to them, and does not make it unnecessarily difficult for them to develop and maintain a sense of Jewish identity. In Kibbutz Beit HaShitah, for example, the members were uncertain as to how they, as “secular” Jews, should observe Yom Kippur. It was important to them to express their wish to belong to the people of Israel.69 Prior to Yom Kippur 2021 Chen Artzi Sror,70 a journalist raised in a modern orthodox family, wrote about the connection between Beit HaShitah and the piyut “U’Netaneh Tokef ”71: In most synagogues on Yom Kippur, the ancient piyut “U’Netaneh Tokef ” is sung to the melody composed by Yair Rosenblum in 1990. We feel, however, as if the melody has existed forever. The combination of the ancient words with the new melody is the result of the kibbutz’s terrible losses in the 1973 Yom Kippur War, in which eleven of the kibbutz’s members fell in battle. At the beginning of the 1990s some members asked Rosenblum, who at that time resided in the kibbutz, to help them create a memorial ceremony for the fallen members. Rosenblum, who was familiar with the piyut from childhood, decided to put it to music. The credit for introducing the kibbutz version of the piyut to the ultra-orthodox mainstream belongs to Avraham Fried, the great hassidic singer. The ultra-orthodox adopted Rosenblum’s melody, even though most did not know its origin. Thus the 30-year old melody of the kibbutznik became an integral part of the Mahzor of prayers. An Israeli miracle. A living culture is one which succeeds in both develoiping and preserving its ancient resources. Yom Kippur is such a

69 The uncertainty of the members is summed up in the booklet: “Yom Kippur in Bet HaShittah between preservation and change 1929-1999” (2000, Ma’arechet Press, Kibbutz Dalya). See also the website of the Kibbutz Movement, under “Holidays” Shittim, www. chagim.org.il [Hebrew]. 70 Chen Artzi Sror is a journalist who works at the daily Hebrew newspaper Yedioth Aharonoth. She writes about general culture, Jewish culture, politics, and women’s rights. 71 For more about “U’Netaneh Tokef ” see p. 167 in this book.

Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People

moment. It teaches us that Israeli society is stronger than we thought, that it has a broad common denominator. It has an internal Jewish language which gathers ancient and new into a common creation composed of a variety of meanings and levels.72 This development gives me hope and belief that our common denominator as Jews is indeed broad. In my kibbutz there are traditions which have developed for observing Yom Kippur. On the morning of the day itself, for example, there is a discussion on the Book of Jonah, which is read in synagogues on this day. The Book deals with the taking of responsibility for one’s own (and one’s people’s) deeds, and presents a Deity who is merciful and forgiving. From the point of view of an educator, I believe that when we have the will to find what we hold in common with our brother Jews, we will find the way. What does a so-called “secular” Jew have in common on Yom Kippur with his friend who keeps the mitzvot? There is the well-known saying: “Transgressions between a man and God—observing the strictures of Yom Kippur can atone for them. Transgressions between a man and his fellow man—Yom Kippur cannot atone for them. One must first placate his fellow” (Mishnah Yoma 8:7). Parents in the family circle and educators in the classroom can raise the issues on which this saying centers—whatever their level of religious observance.73 I should like to conclude this section with the following words of Hannah Szenes: Yom Kippur Eve. This year, again, I shall not fast, because I do not feel the need to. The unique value of the fast, in my opinion, is the expression of solidarity with all the Jews of all the diasporas. I feel that I have other ways to sense that I belong to the Jewish people. I will, however, keep the content of Yom Kippur by examining myself, and confessing [. . .] I want to own up, to make an account with myself.74

72 Chen Artzi Sror, “U’Netaneh Tokef ” [Hebrew] Tel Aviv: Seven Days, Yediot Aharonoth Magazine, Sept. 10, 2021, 10-11. 73 See Talmi et al., Holiday Rituals, 108–117, for a suggestion for a ceremony that can be held in the family circle. 74 Hannah Szenes diary entry [Hebrew], Yom Kippur Eve, October 11, 1940. From Hannah Szenes: Diaries, Poems, Bearing Witness. Moshe Breslevski, ed. Tel Aviv, Hakibbutz Hameuhad Press, 1994.

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c)  How can the Jew who does not belong to any religious framework express belonging to our people? Tish’a B’Av as an exemplar According to what is possibly an urban legend: Napoleon Bonaparte once came into a synagogue on Tish’a B’Av. When he saw the Jews sitting on the floor and obviously mourning, he asked the rabbi for an explanation. On learning that every year Jews mourn the destruction of their Temple and the loss of Jewish sovereignty over their Land—events that took place close to two millennia previously—he famously said: “A people that mourns an event, which took place thousands of years ago, will eventually return to its Land.” As is the case with Yom Kippur, Tish’a B’Av can be problematic for the Israeli Jew who does not belong to a religious framework. The reason is that this day of mourning is marked almost exclusively in synagogues, with prayers and fasting. The “secular” Jew, for whom his people and its history are vitally important, asks himself how to relate to this day. The parent and teacher ask themselves how to explain to the children why—all of a sudden—in the midst of the summer vacation, restaurants and malls are closed for a day, and the child’s favorite television programs are replaced by grim historical programming about events which happened over 2000 years ago. We cannot do better than to complete this chapter with the words of author Yochi Brandes, written during the week of Tish’a Be’Av in 2013: Later this week we mark the most problematic date in the Jewish calendar. For many of us, Tish’a Be’Av simply does not exist. The date of the destruction of the Temple has become a borderline in Israeli society: on one side, a highly meaningful occasion. On the other—nothing. The former will fast and recite lamentations; while the latter do not understand why the cafes and restaurants are closed now, in the middle of the summer. [. . .] We are in our rebuilt land, and are weeping for its destruction as if nothing has changed. As if we’re still in Poland or Morocco. As if Jerusalem is still a silent pile of stones, surrounded by wailing jackals. Why do we continue to lament the desolation of our land, which is now blossoming? And not only on Tish’a B’Av, but all through the year. To this day the Jewish bridegroom breaks a cup and the

Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People

officiating rabbi explains that this custom expresses our sorrow over the desolation of Jerusalem.75 Again, in the words of Brandes: There is another possibility which I adopted a number of years ago from the Conservative movement. I fast and mourn on Tish’a Be’Av in order to connect to the terrible suffering of my people from the destruction of the Temple and throughout history. But I fast for only half a day. I break my fast at noon, and then feel gratitude toward the State of Israel, on being able to live here. [. . .] Only one who rejoices in what she has, understands that it is worth working hard in order to achieve what we do not as yet have.76 I have already noted that Tish’a B’Av is problematic for the “secular” Jew whose sense of belonging to his people, its past, and its future, is important. In this book I encourage those who feel as I do, to care and feel at one with our people, on holidays generally, and especially on those days in which the religious foundation is dominant. When we place exaggerated emphasis on our people’s suffering as part of our observation of a holiday, we risk distancing young people from the holiday, and eventually making it more difficult for them to identify with our people. As I wrote in the chapter on “The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging”: “There should be a sense of proportion between memory of the tragedies of the past and hope for the future in the Jewish calendar, the yearly cycle, which in many ways defines our peoplehood.” When we wish to belong, we find the way.

75 Yochi Brandes, “Who’s in Favor of Getting Rid of Fasts?” [Hebrew], Israel This Week, July 12, 2013, 15. 76 Idem, The Unknown Judaism [Hebrew] (Or Yehuda: Kinneret Zmora-Bitan, 2014), 267–272 (my italics—I. P.).

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Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging Memory is always borne by living people. It creates continuity between the past and the present, and tells us that the past is not really over. Via memory we understand who we are today. Therefore, memory is always in a state of flux. (Pierre Nora)77

Having defined the concepts of identity and belonging and their interconnection, let us now examine the importance of remembrance and its embodiment in the holidays. Remembering the past is the foundation of our identity. One may say, in Nora’s words, that with the help of remembrance we understand who we are today. The holidays shape the celebrants’ identity through direct experience, bringing the memory of the past up to the present. Our identity is connected to our sense of belonging to our people. The roots of this sense go far back into the distant past. In order to remember our past we must, of course, be familiar with it. The festivals and holy days are, however, not history lessons to be studied in school; rather they reflect and shape our culture through direct experience at home, school, work—in all the various frameworks of our lives.

77 Pierre Nora, “Between Memory and History—On the Problem of the Place” [Hebrew] Zmanim (Summer 1993): 5.

Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging

1)  Personal vs. Collective Remembrance It is important at the outset to define the concept of remembrance. I have turned to Abraham Aderet for help: Remembrance is the root which nourishes human experience. Remembrance enables us to create a bridge between today, and eternity—one’s life over and above one’s physical existence. Remembrance grants meaning to everyday life and to one’s life during his own time.78 Human memory is by nature personal. It is therefore somewhat surprising to encounter an appeal to remember the exodus from Egypt, which is couched in the plural: “This day shall be to you [plural] one of remembrance” (Exodus 12:14). Why is the second-person plural used (lachem), rather than the singular (lecha)? This question raises the problematics of “collective memory.” Since memory is individual, existing in the unique mind of each and every human being, there may be a contradiction inherent in the concept of “collective memory.” Yet the concept in its common definition is useful: the term collective memory79 refers to a pool of memories and knowledge shared by a social or national group and associated with the group's identity. Our aim is to encourage the individual to remember and identify with his or her people. In Exodus we have an example of a constitutive event in the history of the people being turned into a personal memory of each individual Jew throughout the generations. This creates for each one the sense of belonging to the whole people. One of the goals of every holiday is to turn a collective memory into a personal, experiential memory, which expresses the personal identity and identification of the individuals who celebrate. It is important, moreover, not only to remember but to cause others to remember. The object of the command “And you shall tell your son” is to cause the younger generation to remember, lest forgetting should cancel out the past and our sense of belonging. The festival of Passover and its Haggadah are at the forefront of the aim of interconnecting

78 Abraham Aderet, “Historical Memory and Personal Memory” [Hebrew], Shittim, www. chagim.org.il. 79 See, for example, Yosef Haim Yerushalmi and Amos Funkenstein, “Past, History and Interpretation” [Hebrew], Alpayim (2007): 169–223.

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the personal and the collective. As we learn from the Haggadah: “In every generation each one must see himself as if he himself has gone out of Egypt” (Mishnah Pessahim 10:5). Let us note that this is couched in the singular. In contrast to the somewhat problematical plural—“This day shall be to you [plural] one of remembrance” (Exodus 12:14)—in chapter 13 we find reference to memory and the identification of the individual with the group: “And you [singular] shall explain to your son on that day, ‘it is because of what the Lord did for me when I went free from Egypt’” (Exodus 13:8). The pronouns, both those referring to the father and those referring to the son, are in the singular. The responsibility for transmitting memory to “your” son is on the individual parent, rather than on a general generation of parents. The message is to be addressed to one’s own, individual son and daughter, rather than to an amorphous group of offspring. Referring back to God’s role in bringing the people out of Egypt, the father continues to speak in the singular: “what the Lord did for me when I went free from Egypt.” This use of the singular is of course reminiscent of the language of the ten commandments: “Remember [singular] the sabbath day and keep it holy” (Exodus 20:8). There is an educational message here: the responsibility for remembering and transmitting memory is placed squarely on the individual. In the words of Yosef Haim Yerushalmi: Memory is always problematical—often deceptive and at times treacherous [. . .] However, the Tanakh does not hesitate when it comes to holding us responsible for memory. The biblical commands to remember are absolute; and even when we are not directly ordered to remember, memory is central. The verb z-ch-r in the template kal appears in the Tanakh no less than 172 times, and its subject is usually the people of Israel or its God, since both are obliged to remember.80

80 Yosef Haim Yerushalmi, Remember: Jewish History and Jewish Memory [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am oved, 1988), 12. In note 82 of this book we discuss the development of the Yizkor prayer said for our fallen soldiers. We therein relate to a question, which is controversial among bereaved parents: whether the text should begin with “The Lord will remember . . .” or “The people of Israel will remember our fallen.”

Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging

The second part of the command “Remember [singular] the sabbath day and keep [singular] it holy” includes the verb sh-m-r (keep). The connection between “remember” and “keep” in the Bible81 is found in Deuteronomy: Observe [keep—singular] the month of Aviv and offer [singular] a passover sacrifice [. . .] so that you [singular] may remember the day of your [singular] departure from the land of Egypt as long as you [singular] live (Deuteronomy 16:1, 3). Here, too, the command is personal, in the singular. The two verbs— remember and keep—appear throughout this passage and are intertwined, complementing each other. The story of the departure from Egypt exemplifies the biblical narrator’s awareness that in order to keep one’s memory it is important not only to “speak” and “tell,” but to “do”: “Eat [singular] matzot,” for example. One must, in other words, hold repeated ceremonies and observances, with their appeal to taste, smell, sound, as we do when observing and celebrating the various Jewish holidays. The couching of the above commands in the singular is important not only as a verbal means of strengthening the individual’s connection to his people, but as part of the educational project of “training a lad in his own way.” (Proverbs 22:6). As we have noted in Chapter 1, this command is personal, and takes into consideration the child whom the parent is “training.” In other words, we should aim to educate our sons and daughters, as well as our pupils, by first and foremost listening to them, or in current terms, having a sense of “where the child is at.” Our approach to the Jewish holidays should have the same basis: and as we shall see the Passover Seder and Haggadah provide an excellent example. Let me note that I approach the remembrance of the past from the viewpoint of an educator and a person of culture, rather than of an historian. Historiographical discourse can assist us in our journey through the Jewish calendar, but it is not a main issue in this book. Our focus is rather on the Jews’ approach to their past, as expressed in the Jewish festivals and holy days. Our discussion of personal/family remembrance and Jewish/collective remembrance obligates us to relate to two questions simultaneously: What 81 In the Hebrew Bible memory has many facets. For whomever would like to delve deeper, I recommend B. S. Childs, Memory and Tradition in Israel (London: SCM Press, 1962); and Athalya Brenner and Frank H. Polak, eds., Performing Memory in Biblical Narrative and Beyond (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2009).

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do we remember? How do we remember? We shall first focus on the issue of what is deserving of being remembered. The answer should reflect the message inherent in the memory of the past and our conclusions as to our present and future life, which we draw from the memory. The answer to this question is also important in encouraging a sense of identity and belonging. And as I have already noted, the holidays are at the center of this project.

2)  What Deserves to Be Remembered?82 A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under heaven [. . .] A time for seeking and a time for losing, A time for keeping and a time for discarding (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 6) We have been given two powers: remembering and forgetting. We must have both. [. . .]. A generation that renews and creates does not throw the heritage of past generations onto the trash heap. This generation observes and examines, distances and brings closer. At times it holds onto the existing tradition and adds to it. (Berl Katznelson)83

The question of distinguishing between what is worthy of being remembered and what can be forgotten is necessarily preceded by the question of whether or not we are obligated to attempt to remember everything. Is it, indeed, possible to remember “everything”? We generally think of forgetting as an unconscious act. Yet at times forgetting is the result of a conscious decision, the decision to censor, or repress, a memory. In the course of generations, changes in emphases in various holidays have influenced memory. We cannot do better than apply Abraham Aderet’s words:

82 Let us remember that this question comes from our sensitivity to the child. 83 Berl Katznelson, “The Sources which Do Not Disappoint” [Hebrew], Davar Daily Newspaper, the month of Av 14, 1934, rpt. in The Complete Writings of Berl Katznelson (Tel Aviv: Mapai, 1947), 301-303.

Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging

Forgetting accompanies remembering. Because memory is selective, because an individual and a society cannot remember everything. An individual remembers what he sees as important. And forgetting is part of selective, creative memory, which passes from one generation to the next. Therefore, the culture of memory is a creative culture, which limits forgetting to what is not vital to its existence.84 The Jewish wedding ceremony is a useful example for the purpose of this discussion. The high point of the ceremony is arguably the reading of two verses from Psalm 137, followed by the “breaking of the glass” by the groom: If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither, let my tongue stick to my palate If I cease to think of you, if I do not keep Jerusalem in memory even at my happiest hour (Psalms 137:5–6). The above is a clear statement that we must remember the destruction of Jerusalem even on our most joyful occasions. The act of breaking the glass while under the wedding canopy (the huppa) symbolizes the connection between the personal and the communal. At the very moment when the couple first establish their own, “private home” (symbolized by the huppa), they remember the destruction of our “national home.” The couple’s feeling of belonging to each other joins with their sense of belonging to the people of Israel both in the present and the past. I discern a problem, however. Why, in our time, when we have our own sovereign state, do we still repeatedly call up the memory of what was once our ruined, desolate capital city? Recalling the destruction of Jerusalem while under the huppa is one example of a series of disasters that our culture remembers—perhaps excessively? On the one hand, remembering the destruction of the Temple (known as bayit— house—in Hebrew) expresses a sense of belonging to our common past, while in the act of establishing our first home. Yet as is the practice generally, the high point of the wedding ceremony is the groom’s stamping on the glass,

84 Aderet, “Historical Memory and Personal Memory.”

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immediately followed by a loud shout of “Mazal tov!,” hugging and kissing of the members of the wedding party, joyous music and dancing, and a wedding feast. In fact, most of our historical holidays can be viewed as stories of salvation. My criticism is of situations in which we see ourselves as victims, in need of a God-given protector, rather than as people able to defend and protect ourselves. Even though our people now has its own sovereignty, in our observance of our holidays we have not yet, in my opinion, internalized the possibility of emphasizing our independence, our strength, our causes for rejoicing.

a)  Let us remember the good (happy) and not the bad (sad) Our greatest sensitivity is towards our children. Generations of Jewish men and women have experienced great anxiety—often well-founded—as to their children’s lives. But not only their lives. The anxiety was always connected to a stubborn refusal to allow their children to put aside the weight of the Jewish fate, of Jewish history. The words “and you shall tell your son” may be seen to bear a dark side: your son and daughter carry an ancient curse, and transmit a sad history. (Oz and Oz-Salzberger)85

Scholars have perceived a need to achieve a balance between remembrance of the unbearable tragedies, which have been visited on our people, and celebration of our many triumphs and achievements, including, but not limited to, the renewal of Jewish sovereignty in our ancient homeland. On the one hand, an important, at times even overwhelming part of the experience of being Jewish has involved slavery; physical, economic, cultural, religious persecution; extended exile; genocide. We owe it to our forebears, ourselves, our future generations, to ensure that this suffering—as well as our people’s fortitude and triumph during centuries of persecution—is not only remembered, but is a source of pride. What Baruch Zisser and Charles Yishaiahu Liberman term

85 Amos Oz and Fania Oz-Salzberger, Jews and Words [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Keter, 2014), 69.

Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging

“whining historiography”86 can actually result in a culture of victimization, to a sense that Jewish history is one unending series of tragedies. One central question with which this book struggles, is: Why does Jewish tradition, which includes our holidays, continue to devote so much attention to remembering and transmitting the memory of the disasters which have been visited upon us? After all, shouldn’t we remember not only tragedies and disasters, but successes, triumphs and happy occasions? The expression Yom Hazikaron—Memorial or Remembrance Day— applies to bereavement and disaster, both in Hebrew and in English. We note, however, that in the Hebrew Bible zikaron by itself is a neutral word, which can relate to remembering the good and the bad, as is, of course, the case with memory in English. I believe that it is important to remember and transmit memory of joyous events and occasions as part of our calendar. We will thus fulfill the biblical spirit: “You shall rejoice in your festival” (Deuteronomy 16:14). The latter is apparently the source of the common greeting “Happy Holiday!” I should like to suggest that while remembering our people’s suffering throughout the generations, we should aim to emphasize the positive aspects of various events. In this we make use of common symbols, which serve multiple purposes. In nature, fire and the sun can be negative in that they burn—but also positive in that they provide warmth and light. As a color, white has positive associations—white tablecloths on the festive Shabbat table, white shirts and blouses on holiday eve. At the same time the white shroud is a sign of death. And of course tears themselves are expressions of strong emotions, both sorrowful and joyous. According to research, the prophet Zechariah lived and wrote after the Declaration of King Cyrus of Persia. Cyrus called upon the exiled Jews to return to their homeland and rebuild the Temple. Writing during the period of the Return to Zion (450 BCE) Zechariah suggested turning existing days of mourning into joyous days: “Thus said the Lord of Hosts: ‘The fast of the fourth month, the fast of the fifth month, the fast of the seventh month, and the fast of the tenth month shall become occasions for joy and gladness’” (Zechariah 8:19). Today we and our children are in the midst of an ongoing Return to Zion. This return—the re-establishment of the sovereign Jewish homeland—is a

86 Baruch Zisser and Charles Yishaiahu Liberman, To Choose Life: Israeli Judaism [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Bar Ilan University and Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 2004), 37.

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source of pride and rejoicing for most Jews, whether or not the latter choose to live in Israel. Since the establishment of the State of Israel, during this modern Return to Zion, we should listen to the prophecies of Jeremiah and Zechariah, learn from them, identify with and adopt them. Let us adjust the festivals and holy days of the Jewish calendar to the changing circumstances of our lives. In other words, in our approach to many of our fasts, our days of mourning, we would do well to take a leaf from the prophets.

b) According to the Bible, when God “remembers,” there is redemption The Hebrew Bible’s historiography may be said to consist of cycles: God blesses His people; God becomes dissatisfied with them; God allows terrible things to happen to us; God remembers His promises to the people; God accepts the people’s repentance and redeems them. Some Jews may claim that this intertwining of the religious and the historical is in fact the main thread of Jewish history. This is, of course, a profound theological question, and as such is beyond the scope of this book. It is important, however, for those Jews who are secular in their approach to be aware that for many of their fellow Jews our people’s history is indeed composed of repeated cycles in which the Deity appears to forget his people, but then remembers and redeems them. Examples from the Hebrew Bible are legion; it is enough to recall one or two: “When God destroyed the cities of the Plain and annihilated the cities where Lot dwelt, God was mindful of Abraham and removed Lot from the midst of the upheaval” (Genesis 19:29). Centuries later, God “remembers” His covenant with our forefathers, and sends Moses to demand of Pharaoh “Let My people go” (Exodus 5:1). These examples from the Hebrew Bible are intended mainly for the secular Jewish community. They assist in enabling a better understanding of the concepts of the religious Jew, in hope that this understanding will lead to a greater consideration of the feelings of our religious brothers. This knowledge should contribute to creating a linkage to our common denominator as a people. In order to be considerate of another’s feelings, you must be familiar with him and his beliefs—to listen to him. Ignorance does not assist in creating tolerance. Focusing on what we hold in common, rather than on our differences, is at the center of creating shlom bayit—harmony—within our people. For example, recognizing this linkage can lessen the tension in Israeli society vis-à-vis the

Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging

wording of the “Yizkor”: “The people of Israel will remember,” or “The Lord will remember.”87 As a parent and teacher who is not religiously orthodox, I aim to instill in my children and pupils an awareness of this overview of Jewish history, even though I do not subscribe to it. It is vital to understand the central concepts of the religious Jew, and encourage consideration for the feelings of the Orthodox Jew. Ignorance, after all, does not encourage tolerance. It is only on the basis of mutual awareness that we—Jews all over the world—can focus on what we bear in common.

c)  Focusing on what we hold in common, and on the good in each person I should like once again to clarify that our common denominator as a people should be first and foremost based on good will in preserving our ties to, and sense of belonging to, our people and land in the past, present and future. Focusing on what is good, on what we hold in common (rather than on the negative, on what divides us), will greatly benefit us as a people. Let is adopt an approach of inclusion, of acceptance of the many facets of our identity, thus enabling us to rejoice in a variety of ways of celebrating our holidays. In a discussion—held in 1982 with Jewish settlers in the West Bank—Amos Oz addressed the problematics of accepting the right of each Jew to make his

87 The motif of remembrance is threaded throughout this book. The Yizkor prayer is recited at ceremonies in memory of the fallen of the Israel Defense Force. The first modern version of the Yizkor was composed by Berl Katznelson—one of the intellectual founders of Labor Zionism—in 1920, in memory of the eight fallen defenders of Tel Hai, among whom was numbered Joseph Trumpeldor: “The Jewish people will remember the pure souls of our brave, heroic sons and daughters [. . .] who gave their lives in battle for Israel and for love of Israel [. . .].” After the establishment of the State of Israel some minor changes were made in Katznelson’s text. In 1967 Rabbi Shlomo Goren, then Chief Rabbi of the IDF, changed the text to begin with “The Deity will remember . . .” This change raised a sensitive, even controversial issue: should the Yizkor begin with “The Deity will remember” (as was the wish of bereaved families who were religious in the Orthodox way), or with “The Jewish people will remember” (as was the preference of bereaved families who saw themselves as “secular”)? It seems to me that there is a middle way, a formulation with which both Orthodox and non-Orthodox families could feel comfortable: perhaps “The Deity will remember and the Jewish people will remember.” If only we could allow each family to choose the text, which expressed its own way of remembering . . . And if only we knew no more sorrow!

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or her own choices from the vast richness of our traditions. It is worth quoting his words at length: [As a legitimate heir of our traditions], I am free to decide what elements of our great heritage shall find their place in my livingroom, and which shall be stored in the cellar. Following generations will surely have the right to change this order according to their own lights. I moreover have the right to “import” from outside of our traditions, without, of course, imposing my preferences and choices on others. This is pluralism, which I have previously praised: the right to decide what is of secondary importance and what is most important, what is central, what remains on the sidelines, and what is hidden.88 I should like to add, however, that in our decisions we must have a sense of consideration for our fellow Jews whose choices differ from ours. This includes a willingness to cherish our common denominators and sense of belonging. The pluralistic approach of Amos Oz offers a way to bring closer those Jews who feel distanced, and even uninterested in their Jewishness. The expression “And you shall tell your son” is meant to connect the past to the present, and make our holidays relevant and meaningful. We hope that our children will celebrate willingly and feel connected to their identity as Jews. It is necessary, however, to admit that there is a danger in this approach: the possibility of each of us making his or her own choices might separate us from one another, rather than bring us together. Some readers may find a contradiction in the fact that this book speaks of encouraging what we hold in common; while the pluralistic approach might cause us to lose our common denominators. This possibility certainly cannot be ignored. Therefore, in the process of choosing between “what to bring closer” and “what to distance” one of our criteria should be consideration for one another: let us search for the balance between listening to ourselves and listening to the choices of our fellow Jews.

88 Oz and Oz-Salzberg, Jews and Words, 238.

Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging

3)  How to Remember and Cause Others to Remember? Let me begin by saying that I do not intend to provide a “recipe” for the holidays and those who celebrate, but rather to offer principles and guidelines. We shall raise the question of how to remember and lead others to remember, based upon a pluralistic approach founded on tolerance for our multiple identities as a people. This approach allows for a variety of ways to remember, to encourage others to remember, and to celebrate the Jewish holidays. In the spirit of this approach, we support a combination of tradition and renewal, and encourage the addition of relevant texts and observances.89 Our cornerstone is the desire to belong to our people. A central means of recalling to our children their identity and belonging is via festivals and holy days. In this we keep in mind the conviction that it is not enough to remember. Remembrance by itself can at times be passive. Therefore, we must cause future generations to remember actively. In the words of Isaiah: Take a lyre, go about the town, Harlot long forgotten; Sweetly play, make much music, To bring you back to mind. (Isaiah 23:16) In this verse the prophet suggests singing and playing music in order to remember—and “making much music” of course increases the power of the experience, as do speaking, writing, singing, playing musical instruments. These means should be integral parts of celebrating our holidays, and the more the better.

4)  To Sum Up: Memory, Celebration, Rejoicing Remembrance, as encouraged by our holidays, creates and forms the feeling of belonging of the celebrants. They simultaneously sense that they belong to

89 This approach is close to the spirit of Conservative/Masorti Judaism, which accepts the individual’s right to choose what rituals to do while attempting to draw them closer to Jewish practice. See Mordecai Waxman, ed., Tradition and Change (New York: United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, 1958).

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one another in the present, and to their people in the past. This is the central message of “And you shall tell your son,” and the rationale for its repetition over and over. The words of the prophet Jeremiah support repetition as a means of remembrance: [The Deity speaks:] “Is Ephraim my dear son? Is he pleasant child? For since I spake against him, I do earnestly remember him still.” (Jeremiah 31:20) (KJV) In other words, the prophet suggests that in order to remember one’s son, one must speak to him over and over, in order not to forget. Anything which is spoken of is not forgotten. Our loved ones who have passed away continue to live in our memories, for as long as we speak of them. The repetition is not only via speaking: we use as broad a variety of means as possible: song, poetry, music, dancing, etc. Via multi-faceted observances we not only remember what we as Jews hold in common, but ensure that neither our history, our identity, nor our sense of belonging, will be forgotten. The holidays, based as they are on experiential observances, are the main means for encouraging the building of identity and formation of a sense of belonging to our people. As to the question of how to encourage remembrance, the answer varies, and is indeed specific for each holiday. Our awareness of this variety should encourage in each of us a creative ability—and once again, “the more the better.” The key to dealing with the problem of forgetting lies in the posing of the question “How to remember.” The very act of asking the question raises awareness and encourages the celebrants to remember. If we add the importance of combining old with new, tradition—historical memory—with renewal, we are able to understand the holidays as forming identity and a sense of belonging, and as creating a renewed and relevant identity. Identity, in other words, is not static, but rather dynamic and multi-faceted. In the words of the Psalmist: Hallelujah. Praise God in His sanctuary; praise Him (Hallelujah) in the sky, His stronghold. Praise Him (Hallelujah) for His mighty acts;

Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging

praise Him (Hallelujah) for His exceeding greatness. Praise Him (Hallelujah) with blasts of the horn; praise Him (Hallelujah) with harp and lyre. Praise Him (Hallelujah) with timbrel and dance; praise Him (Hallelujah) with lute and pipe. Praise Him (Hallelujah) with resounding cymbals; praise Him (Hallelujah) with loud-clashing cymbals (Psalms 150) Psalm 150 praises and thanks God. Regarding the question of “How should we remember and celebrate?” We should remember and celebrate with joy, with music90 (“with harp and lyre”), with dancing (“with timbrel and dance”); with thanksgiving, and with rejoicing that we have reached this holiday. Let us not relinquish the joy of our holidays. Let us rather take a leaf from the Hebrew Bible. Nehemiah describes the joy of the dedication of the wall of Jerusalem during the period of the Return to Zion: At the dedication of the wall of Jerusalem, the Levites, wherever they lived, were sought out and brought to Jerusalem to celebrate a joyful dedication with thanksgiving and with song, accompanied by cymbals, harps, and lyres (Nehemiah 12:27). Let us, too, rejoice in our Jewish festivals.

90 Many Conservative/Masorti congregations already use some of the techniques recommended, including music and active remembrance.

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The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging During the years 2005–2016 I edited Alei Mo’ed (Holiday Pages), a series of booklets/journals, each of which was devoted to a specific festival or holiday, and published by the Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College. As I explained to the readers of the Holocaust memorial edition (2009): I had originally planned to devote one issue to each of the memorial days in the Jewish calendar, but on second thought am not satisfied with the idea that Holocaust Remembrance Day be viewed as merely “another memorial day.”91 The Day of Remembrance of the Holocaust and Heroism deserves special, even unique attention; I therefore decided to devote a whole booklet, a separate issue of Alei Mo’ed, to this day.92 These words fit in well with my sense that in this book Holocaust Memorial Day deserves its own chapter. I shall, however, begin with a short discussion of the Fast of 10 Tevet, which connects the memory of the destruction of the First and Second Temples to that of the Holocaust. Among the various calamities, which have befallen us, two momentous disasters have been visited upon our people as a whole during the course of

91 I would like to thank the anonymous reviewer wrote to me: “It is not clear that one can reduce the emotional power of encounters with the Holocaust by adding positive elements from ancient Jewish history, or through intergenerational activities. My own sense is that this balance will have to work itself out over time, as it did with the destruction of the two Temples and other major tragedies, such as the Crusades and the 1492 expulsion from Spain. It is probably too soon to reduce that tension.” 92 Itzik Peleg and Batia Brutin, editorial, in Alei Mo’ed: Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust and Heroism, ed. Itzik Peleg and Batia Brutin (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009), 5.

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our history: we must remember them and ensure that following generations continue to remember. The first was double: the destruction of the First and Second Temples (586 BCE; 70 CE), both of which were accompanied and followed by exile from our land; the second is the Holocaust. These events are central to our Jewish identity. Both are engraved in our hearts and are part of our calendar. This chapter is devoted to the Holocaust, although we do touch upon remembrance of the destruction of the Temples and subsequent exile. It is possible to contrast the destruction of the Temples and following exile with the return to the Land and the establishment of the State of Israel: the only Jewish State. Israel is the state of all the Jews wherever they live. Like the influence of destruction and exile on our consciousness as a people and the ways in which we mark our holy days and festivals, we should expect that, following the establishment of the Zionist movement and the State, there will be changes in the way we observe days of remembrance and celebrate our holidays. The question of shaping identity and sense of belonging accompanies each individual during the course of his or her life, and accompanies the people as a whole, in every time and place. During periods of crisis the problem of identity increases. A prime example of ways in which a community contends with this problem is offered by Hannah Livnat: In the face of the strictures imposed on the Jewish community in Germany after the rise to power of the Nazis [1933], the need arose to offer Jewish children and young people ways of coping with the new reality. Literature for children and teenagers was a major tool in fulfilling this goal, and German Jewry assigned to this literature a central cultural and educational task.93 It is not surprising that the Holocaust and the establishment of the State of Israel receive great attention in the Jewish calendar: the Holocaust is undoubtedly the most extreme case of our people’s suffering, while the establishment of the State marks a high point of hope. The connection between the two is clear: arguably for most Jews, whether they live in Israel or in the Diaspora, the existence of the State of Israel is a central part of keeping our

93 Hannah Livnat, How Beautiful It Is to Be a Jew: Shaping Identity of Jewish Children in Germany 1933–38 ( Jerusalem: Yad Va’shem, 2009), 447. Livnat’s research contributes much to understanding the role played by literature and holidays in shaping identity, especially in times of crisis.

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promise to our brothers and sisters who were murdered during World War II: “Never again!” In this chapter we focus on the various memorial days devoted to the Holocaust; to institutions/museums dedicated to preserving the memory of the Holocaust via research tools (such as Yad Va’shem);94 as well as to visits to Poland—a kind of pilgrimage, in fact—made by groups of Jews. The latter have become possible in the three decades since the downfall of the Iron Curtain.

1)  The Tenth Day of the Month of Tevet: The General Day of Kaddish After the Second World War, the Chief Rabbinate of Israel fixed the tenth of Tevet as a day of general mourning for the victims of the Holocaust, on which the orphan’s Kaddish is said in memory of those victims of the Nazis whose date of death is not known.95 The tenth day of Tevet was originally one of four dates, which recall the destruction of the First Temple. As Yosef Roth Rotem notes: after the destruction of the Temple in 586 BCE the prophets assigned four dates of remembrance and mourning [. . .]. The four days of mourning mark four stages in the destruction: the Fast of 10 Tevet marks the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem; the Fast of 17 Tammuz recalls the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem and the entrance of the enemy into the city; the Fast of 9 Av marks the downfall of Jerusalem and the burning of the Temple; the Fast of Gedaliah—3 Tishrei—is in memory of the loss of the remnant of the Jewish population after the assassination of Gedaliahu ben Ahikam, the governor of Judea.96

94 Let us note that Holocaust remembrance is not limited to Israel. It is important to note that throughout the world—in Japan, Australia, Europe, for example—there are many museums devoted to the memory of the Holocaust. In addition to four Holocaust museums in Israel there are two large and well-known museums in the USA: the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. and LAMOTH—the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust. 95 Yosef Roth Rotem, “The tenth day of Tevet” [Hebrew], in Jewish Holidays’ Encyclopedia, ed. Yoel Rappel (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers: 2004), 285–286. 96 Ibid., 334–335.

The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging

Why, however, are there four fast days? Isn’t one day sufficient? In this we might take a page from the prophet Zechariah. Zechariah, who lived during the period of the Return to Zion which began in 538 BCE with the declaration of Cyrus, expresses a hope that the four fasts will in time become days of rejoicing: “The fast of the fourth month, the fast of the fifth month, the fast of the seventh month, and the fast of the tenth month shall become occasions for joy and gladness, happy festivals for the House of Judah; but you must love honesty and integrity” (Zechariah 8:19). Boldly and optimistically, Zechariah suggests turning these fasts into festivals “for joy and gladness.” The aim of this book—to remember not only the sad, but the joyful as well—is influenced by Zechariah’s suggestion. The rationale for the prophet’s optimism was the Return to Zion of those who had been exiled to Babylon: Zachariah herein prophesies that there will come a time when we no longer need to mourn the destruction of the Temple. Attempts to unite the four fasts into one day of remembrance have thus far not been successful, although Tisha B’Av is seen to include mourning for the destruction of the First and Second Temples, as well as the downfall of Beitar in the Bar Kochba uprising, 135 CE, and the exiles from Spain and Portugal (1492 and 1496). Prime Minister Menachem Begin suggested merging the days of remembrance for the destruction of the Temple with the memory of the Holocaust. It is understandable that this suggestion was not accepted—but the Jewish calendar remains with many more days of mourning than of rejoicing.97 Indeed, researchers have devoted much attention to the problematics of changing dates of mourning.98 Yet I still ask myself why we have not joined the various days of mourning for the traumatic events that have been visited upon our people into one central day. Author Yochi Brandes discerns in the 10 Tevet a message for all time. This day recalls the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem: “This fast day calls out to us: Pay attention to the onset of the calamity. This is the most critical point in time.

97 In the afterword of this book I discuss the educational ramifications of the multiplicity of days of mourning in the Jewish calendar. 98 See Aliza Shenhar-Elroi, “9 of the month Av,” in Jewish Holidays’ Encyclopedia, ed. Yoel Rappel (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers: 2004), 444: “According to Josephus Flavius the Second Temple was set afire on the tenth of the month of Av—but the day of mourning was observed on the ninth. Rabbi Judah Hanassi had intended to change the date of the day of mourning to the tenth of the month, but the Sages did not agree, since the ninth was already set aside for this purpose. There were those who insisted on fasting both on the ninth and the tenth. During the Second Temple period it had been decided that the day of mourning for the (First) Temple would be observed on the ninth of Av.”

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You must note it before it is too late. Do not allow the events to develop into a disaster from which there is no return.”99 The Tenth of Tevet, in other words, deserves special attention. One would hesitate to remove this date from the calendar, or to merge it with another remembrance day. From an educational point of view, however, I do suggest having an in-depth dialogue as to this dilemma.

2)  The Day of Remembrance of the Holocaust and Heroism In 1951 Israel’s Knesset established 27 Nisan as a special day in honor of the Holocaust and of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising (which began on 27 Nisan [1943]). In 1959 the name of the day was changed to Day of Remembrance of the Holocaust and Heroism. The addition of the word remembrance served to determine the nature of this day. Moreover, the addition of the word heroism marked a change in the way Israelis relate to the Holocaust and to its survivors: it is seen as important to emphasize the bravery of individual Jews and Jewish communities who rose up against their conquerors and fought against impossible odds. In recent years, with the accumulation of more and more evidence as to the daily lives of Jews in occupied Europe, we view all Jews who underwent Nazi persecution as heroes. 27 Nisan is not the only date devoted to the memory of the Holocaust. As we have seen, 10 Tevet was appointed by the Israeli Rabbinate as the day of general Kaddish for victims of the Holocaust, the date of whose death is not known. In 2005 the United Nations chose 27 January as the international Remembrance Day for the Holocaust; on this date in 1945 the AuschwitzBirkenau concentration-camp complex was liberated by the Red Army. The multiplicity of days of mourning in the Jewish calendar for the destruction of the Temples and the Holocaust, leads me to question the value of devoting so many days in the course of the year to the calamities visited on our people in the distant and recent past.100 According to Rabbi Yehoram Mazor, who takes a pluralistic approach to the presence of changes in customs:

99 Brandes, The Unknown Judaism, 214. 100 Chapter 8 of this book includes a journey through, and lessons to be learned from, the days of mourning in the Jewish calendar. For more about days of mourning in the Jewish calendar see Brandes, The Unknown Judaism, 213.

The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging

Much as the Sages argue that in our daily prayers we must recall our redemption from Egypt, I suggest that in our daily prayers we recall the Holocaust and our subsequent redemption. We thereby emphasize the motif of continuation, from Pharaoh’s persecution and the people’s redemption from Egypt under the leadership of Moses, Aaron and Miriam, through our redemption at other times and places, in every generation.101 Rabbi Mazor makes a clear case for recalling the Holocaust as part of instilling in future generations a sense of continuation; but his suggestion of raising the memory of the Holocaust and its victims in daily prayers may be problematic. I believe that parents and educators should be sensitive to the possibility that our many days of mourning can impose an overload of pain on our children. Jewish tradition includes a number of fast days which appear neither in the Bible nor in “popular” Jewish calendars, and are generally unfamiliar to Jews who are not orthodox; these fasts do, however, appear in the traditional Jewish calendar. Mondays and Thursdays, for example, are designated as fast days in certain weeks of the year; there is a monthly fast at Rosh Hodesh (the beginning of each month); bride and groom are to fast on the day of their wedding; some fast on the anniversaries of their parents’ death; there are even those who fast after dreaming a particularly threatening dream, in order to counteract its influence. The latter are not mandated, but are rather fasts of choice; yet their very presence in some calendars and in religious texts can serve to strengthen the sense that there is a multiplicity of fast days in the Jewish year.102 The increase in the number of memorial days recalling tragedies which have plagued our people strengthens the impression that the Jewish people have been constant victims throughout the course of history. I certainly subscribe to the importance of remembering the disasters visited upon us, and of teaching our children their people’s history in detail. But at the same time I do not suggest educating our future generations to feel that as Jews their lives are to be one long struggle for survival, of living in a permanent siege situation, or in the words of a once popular song whose lyrics were written by Yoram

101 Rabbi Yehoram Mazor, “The Holocaust in the Prayer Book” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust and Heroism, ed. Itzik Peleg and Batia Brutin (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009), 14–16 (my italics—I. P.). 102 See Shlomo Weissblit, “Monday and Thursday as Fast Days” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2004), 102.

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Taharlev: “The whole world is against us / This is an ancient melody / Taught to us by our forefathers.” The refrain, however, is hopeful: “The whole world is against us / It’s OK. We’ll overcome.” Or as Meir Ariel wrote in another popular song: “We’ve survived Pharaoh, so we’ll survive this, too.” It is my conviction that an approach which encourages Jews to see themselves as eternal victims is unfortunate. This approach can easily result in an education based on fear, and places the blame for these calamities exclusively on others, under whose control we have lived for over two millennia. We should now aim to instill in our younger generation a healthy Jewish identity, based on pride in our peoplehood and awareness of our ability to take control of our lives. After all, our history is replete with positive achievements, including many contributions to humanity as a whole. We should seek to “tell our sons,” to educate our children, in the light of these achievements. I hope it is clear that I do not suggest allowing the suffering which we have undergone to be forgotten. A mere seven decades after World War II, “Holocaust denial” exists, and in certain frameworks is even spreading, as is antisemitism. There should be a sense of proportion, however, between memory of the tragedies of the past and hope for the future in the Jewish calendar, the yearly cycle which in many ways defines our peoplehood. When I note the four days of mourning, for example, devoted to the destruction of the Temples, I cannot but feel that our holidays emphasize our suffering and helplessness more than our reasons for rejoicing. In any case, we should be aware of our ambivalence, as well as of the importance of maintaining a sense of proportion.

3)  The Holocaust and the Bible: “Thou shalt not take the name of the Sho’ah in vain”103 An explanation of the above subtitle: In our political discourse in Israel, I occasionally feel that the Holocaust is mentioned in inappropriate contexts; this can cheapen its memory. The term sho’ah appears in the Hebrew Bible, but any connection to the Sho’ah which befell our people during World War II is merely verbal. The Even-Shushan Dictionary defines sho’ah as “destruction,

103 In Exodus 20:7 we read: “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.” Among Jews and non-Jews who had previously been believers in the Deity, the events of World War II led them to a sense that “the God Whom I worship(ped) died at Auschwicz.” See also Rabbi Harold Kushner, When Bad Things Happen to Good People (New York: Anchor, 2004).

The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging

devastation, annihilation.” The word sho’ah, which appears thirteen times in the Bible, bears a number of meanings: among them “destruction, devastation, annihilation, desert/wilderness.”104 The choice of sho’ah as the term for what is known in English as the Holocaust is surely based on the fact that it is a Hebrew word whose source is the Book of Books.105 The source of the English word holocaust is the Greek. It originally referred to a burnt sacrificial offering (made to a god), which is consumed entirely by flames. After World War I the death of millions of young soldiers on the killing fields of Europe was on occasion referred to as a holocaust. Ever since World War II the word sho’ah has been identified exclusively with the Holocaust, the genocide of European Jewry at the hands of the Nazis and their collaborators. As time goes on, we have come to see the term, and the genocide that it represents, as unique in human history. Or in the words of poet Meir Wieseltier: “What was the word sho’ah / Two years before the Sho’ah [. . .]? / The Sho’ah two years before the Sho’ah / Did not have a name.”106 Personally, I believe that word sho’ah should be reserved exclusively for what was done to our people during World War II. By this I do not mean to debase the tragedies which have been visited upon other peoples. We should aim at achieving a balance between ignoring the suffering of others, on the one hand, and cheapening the memory of the Holocaust, on the other, by applying the term to situations which do not bear the depth and range of suffering and loss which the word is meant to represent. I therefore suggest that Jews who do not speak Hebrew prefer the term Sho’ah to Holocaust: this helps to express the idea that the Sho’ah is indeed unique, and should be remembered as unique. Perhaps its use also expresses our determination that the genocide of European Jewry will never again happen, as well as the hope that such suffering will never be visited on any other people.

104 In the Book of Isaiah, on the basis of context, sho’ah is understood as evil that comes upon us suddenly: “Evil is coming upon you / Which you will not know how to charm away / [. . .] Coming upon you suddenly / Is ruin [sho’ah] of which you know nothing” (Isaiah 47:11). 105 See Even Shushan Dictionary ( Jerusalem: Kiryat sefer, 1988), s.v. sho’ah, 1333. See also BDB: A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon, 1907), 980–981. 106 Meir Wieseltier, “Words,” in his The Concise 1960s (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1984), 189.

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4)  Lessons from the Sho’ah: Be Strong and Humane From Israel’s Declaration of Independence, 1948: The catastrophe which recently befell the Jewish people—the massacre of millions of Jews in Europe—was another clear demonstration of the urgency of solving the problem of its homelessness by re-establishing in Eretz-Israel the Jewish State, which would open the gates of the homeland wide to every Jew and confer upon the Jewish people the status of a fully privileged member of the comity of nations. Survivors of the Nazi holocaust in Europe, as well as Jews from other parts of the world, continued to migrate to Eretz-Israel, undaunted by difficulties, restrictions and dangers, and never ceased to assert their right to a life of dignity, freedom and honest toil in their national homeland.107 More than seven decades have passed since the Holocaust; survivors of the devastation living among us are in their 80s and 90s.108 The question arises of how we will continue to remember and educate younger generations without the presence of witnesses. This question has engaged Israel’s Knesset ever since it was established, and a law was enacted in 1979 mandating the teaching of the Holocaust in Israeli schools. This teaching is based on Israel’s Declaration of Independence.109 In addition to observing the Day of Remembrance of the Holocaust and of Heroism, and teaching the Holocaust in schools, we must continue to find a variety of other ways of remembering, and of learning the lessons of the

107 People’s Council, “Declaration of Establishment of State of Israel,” Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs (1948), http://www.mfa.gov.il/mfa/foreignpolicy/peace/guide/pages/ declaration%20 of %20 establishment % 20 of %20 state %20 of %20 israel.aspx, accessed August 19, 2014.  108 As a teacher I have organized two classes on journeys to Poland. These visits were accompanied by Naomi Kalsky, who recently passed away. As part of our journey, we followed the route taken by Naomi when, as a young teenager, she fled through the Polish countryside. Naomi’s story has been written in English: Leslie Cohen, Trapped inside the Story: The Biography of Naomi Kalsky ( Jamul: Level 4 Press, 2007). 109 See Batia Brutin, “The Legal Basis for Teaching about the Holocaust in Israel” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust and Heroism, ed. Itzik Peleg and Batia Brutin (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009), 8–12, for a discussion of the connection between the Declaration of Independence and the Holocaust.

The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging

Holocaust. One way—visual, in this case—both in Israel and abroad, is via building monuments; another is establishing museums. As Shelly Shenhav writes: “In recent years museums have become central sites for the teaching of the Holocaust in Israel. With the increase of delegations of high school students travelling to Poland to visit sites of the death camps, these museums have become an important part of preparing the young people for the journey; the position of the museums has thus been strengthened.”110

a)  What is the role of the journeys to Poland? During the last three decades an additional tool for teaching about the Holocaust has been the travels to Poland of Israeli high school students,111 usually in grade 12, to visit the places where our people suffered, struggled, and died. Despite the pain involved, little can approach the effect of seeing with one’s own eyes. The journey to Poland, as carried out in many Israeli schools, has three parts: preparations, which take place in Israel, often during grade 11; the journey itself; the conclusions drawn by each participant, after the journey. The first two stages, of course, contribute to drawing and internalizing conclusions. On the basis of my own experience as a teacher who accompanied my class to Poland, as well as a parent of pupils who took part in such journeys, I understand the claims of those who are less than convinced as to the necessity of these journeys; but on balance I believe that they should be continued. Historian Anita Shapira argues that these voyages tend to replace learning about our people’s distant past: The place of the Bible in creating Israeli identity has been taken over, to a large extent, by the Shoah; the latter has become the source of identification with the Jewish people, with contemporary Jewish history, and with the conclusions drawn by Jewish

110 Shelly Shenhav, “Museums in Memory of the Sho’ah” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo’ed: Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust and Heroism, ed. Itzik Peleg and Batia Brutin (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009), 36–39. 111 Similar journeys to Poland are made by youngsters and adults from countries other than Israel. Among these are groups of young Jews from the United States. Some groups take part in the March of the Living, an annual educational program which brings students from around the world to Poland (in the weeks immediately following Passover), where they visit sites connected with the Holocaust. My conclusions as to these journeys to Poland apply both to those made by Israelis and by others.

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martyrology. Instead of visiting archeological digs here in Israel, our young people now make a “journey to discover their roots” in Poland.112 I would suggest, however, that the journeys to Poland need not replace study of the past via archeology and visiting digs. As a teacher I have accompanied two classes on journeys to Poland. I should like to present selected passages which I wrote to my pupils after our return. The following emphasizes conclusions which the youngsters drew as a result of their visit to Poland: Before and during our journey to Poland I pondered the question of whether the heavy investment of thought, time (and even money) was justified. Could not the same results be achieved by visits to Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, and by meetings with “survivors,” “witnesses”? In other words, for me the question of whether or not to make these journeys is an inseparable part of the value of the journey itself. After the journey, the pupils who took part received a list of ideas as to the purpose of the journey; they were asked to rate from 1 to 5 the extent to which each idea reflected their own thoughts—with 5 being awarded to ideas with which the pupil most strongly identified. The following received 5: 1) On my return from Poland, I better understand why it is important to live in Israel. 2) Poland enables me to know and remember the Jewish people’s past and transmit it to others. 3) My main conclusion from this journey is that I must first and foremost be a good person, one who struggles against any evil, unjust deed. 4) My main conclusion from this journey is that Israel must be strong. 5) This journey enabled my classmates and me to draw closer, to be more sensitive to one another.

112 Anita Shapira, The Bible and Israeli Identity ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 2006), 33 (my italics—I. P.).

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Speaking in my own words: before the journey I felt that we were, in a certain way, going to “them,” to the fallen. Now, after the journey, I sense that they are with us. Let me conclude with a response to those who ask what these journeys to Poland “give us”? First of all, the above responses of the pupils speak for themselves. As a teacher I worked with a number of twelfth-grade classes who did not make the journey to Poland. I found that the trip, including the preparation, enabled me to be an integral part of discussions with my pupils on existential issues—those which I wished had taken place with previous classes—but which just “didn’t happen.” The visit to Poland made certain questions relevant, even natural subjects for discussion. The many discussions among the teachers and other adults taking part in the journey, between pupils and teachers, among the pupils themselves, between the pupils and their families, penetrated deeply into our roots, into our values as human beings, into our sense of belonging to the Jewish people. After all, what is a human being, if not the full stock of his or her associations? The trip to Poland enriches us by deepening our world of associations There are apparently cases in which one must “be there” in order to feel, to understand.113 As to the lessons to be learned, I suggest adopting the sayings with which the youngsters agreed wholeheartedly. It is not necessary to choose. There is no contradiction between “Israel must be strong” and “I must first and foremost be a good person ( a mensch in Yiddish), one who struggles against any evil, unjust deed.” We should be educating our younger generations towards a combination of the two.

b)  To be a compassionate person, involved and sensitive to the other First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak

113 Itzik Peleg, “They are Us” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo’ed: Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust and Heroism, ed. Itzik Peleg and Batia Brutin (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009), 51.

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out—because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me. (Martin Niemoller)

The above are the words of Martin Niemoller, a prominent German Lutheran pastor.114 Although he supported the Third Reich during its first years, he became an outspoken enemy of Hitler, and between the years 1938-1945 was imprisoned in Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentration camps. The educational lesson of the pastor’s words should serve us as a moral guideline, as should the acts of those Righteous Among the Nations who risked their own and their families’ lives in order to rescue Jews from their Nazi persecutors. In the Bible we learn of Moses’s intervention when the young prince witnesses the injustice done to one of his brothers: . . . when Moses had grown up, he went out to his kinsfolk and witnessed their labors. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsmen. He turned this way and that and, seeing no one about, he struck down the Egyptian115 and hid him in the sand (Exodus 2:11–12). The story of Moses’s involvement in aiding one of his brethren awakens a sense of confusion. There is often a tendency to criticize Moses’s violent behavior. On the basis of the literal text, it appears that Moses looked “this way and that” in order to make sure that nobody would see him killing the Egyptian. This reading, this interpretation, is not complimentary to Moses—but there is another possible reading, one which is not only legitimate, but even positive: Moses was sensitive to his people’s suffering, and when he saw an Egyptian taskmaster beating a Hebrew he first looked left and right in order to see whether there was anyone else who would interfere and assist the slave—but when he saw that there was nobody else getting involved, he took responsibility and protected his brother. This reading presents Moses as responsible, ready to

114 See Wolfgang Gerlach, And the Witnesses were Silent: The Confessing Church and the Jews (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2000), 47. 115 For a discussion of Moses’s act in striking the Egyptian see Avi Sagi, “Amalek’s Punishment: How Jewish Tradition Deals with the Problem and Status of Morality,” in his Judaism: Between Religion and Morality (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1998).

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defend the weak and helpless. It predicts Hillel the Elder’s words in Ethics of the Fathers: “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.”116 As a young educator I was brought face to face with this lesson of the Holocaust—the importance of striving to be a sensitive, moral person, under all circumstances—in 1968. At the time I was a youth leader of a group of teenagers in Kibbutz Yassur, when we, along with anyone who had access to a television set, became aware of the terrible suffering of the people of Biafra. The latter were undergoing genocide, in large part by starvation, as a result of the ongoing Nigerian civil war. The films of starving children on the evening news led us to ask how we could assist these people. The group decided to collect money for food, clothing and medicine by going house to house, street to street, in the nearby towns of Acre and Nahariya. The response was wonderful, and we immediately transferred the funds collected to humanitarian and peace activist Abie Nathan. The latter, together with Simcha Holzberg, “Father of the Wounded Soldiers” and himself a Holocaust survivor, made sure that the money collected reached the people for whom it was intended.117 The experience of being part of an urgent attempt at saving lives was important for the youngsters in the group, and for me as well, but also for the perfect strangers of Acre and Nahariya who contributed. We Israelis, observing clips of starving Biafran children via the TV screen, did not, of course risk our lives; and in this sense any comparison with Righteous Gentiles is presumptuous. Yet part of our remembrance of the Holocaust is the educational message that we must “strive to be men (people).”

116 See Avigdor Shinan, Ethics of the Fathers: A New Israeli Commentary ( Jerusalem: Yediot, 2009), 48, commentary on Mishnah Avot 1:6. Let us note that the English translation of adam doesn’t work as well as does, for example the Yiddish mensch. Note that Hillel the Elder connects this with Moses in Exodus 2:12. Regarding this verse see Everett Fox, The Five Books of Moses (New York: Schocken, 1995), 264, note on verse 12, “there was no man (there)”: “Although some have interpreted this as ‘no man around to help’ the expression taken in the context would seem to indicate that Moshe was afraid of being seen.” 117 See Itzik Peleg, The Biafra Holocaust (Kibbutz Yassur: n.p., 1969). In the opening of this booklet I wrote: “Twenty-five years ago the world stood silently by while our people was undergoing genocide. We young people see this silence as shocking and incomprehensible. [. . .] Unfortunately, twenty-five years later we again witness genocide. And again the world stands by in silence.”

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5) Righteous among the Nations:118 (Righteous Gentiles) as Ethical Exemplars The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe in the Nile, while her maidens walked along the Nile. She spied [a] basket among the reeds and sent her slave girl to fetch it. When she opened it, she saw that it was a child, a boy crying. She took pity on it and said, “This must be a Hebrew child.” Then [the baby’s] sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a Hebrew nurse to suckle the child for you?” And Pharaoh’s daughter answered, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. (Exodus 2:5–8)

Pharaoh’s daughter certainly deserves to be called “The First Righteous Woman among the Nations.” As were the (Righteous Gentiles) Righteous among the Nations during the Holocaust, she is a source of light and hope. According to Yochi Brandes, “Thanks to Pharaoh’s daughter, we believe that always, even in the darkest of times, there are people who will light up the darkness and teach us how good and loving it is possible to be.”119 This educational message is one of the main conclusions from the horrors of the Holocaust on which we can all agree. The title Righteous among the Nations (or Righteous Gentiles) is given to one who took part in saving Jews during World War II, usually endangering his or herself and family. The source of the expression is the Halakha, where it applies to one who lives according to the seven Noahide Commandments.120 On the medallion awarded to a Righteous Gentile the following is engraved: “One who saves one soul is like one who saves a whole world.” 121 In the Babylonian Talmud we find the addition of “of Israel”: “Whoever destroys

118 For an extensive discussion of the Righteous Among the Nations—non-Jews who risked their lives during the Holocaust to save Jews from extermination by the Nazis—see Neima Barzel, Choosing Good: Rescuing Jews in Poland and in Holland during World War II (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 2004). 119 Brandes, The Unknown Judaism, 159, 161. 120 For discussions of the seven Noahide Commandments see Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer, parasha 6; or Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tshuva 83, and Hilkhot Malakhim, chap. 8. 121 The Deity’s words to Cain after the latter murdered Abel (Genesis 4:10) are the inspiration for this saying.

The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging

one soul from Israel122—it is as if he has destroyed a whole world, and whoever saves one soul from Israel—it is as if he has saved a whole world.” In the Jerusalem Talmud this passage appears without mention of “Israel,” and throughout the generations scholars have argued over the presence or absence of the word “Israel.” The formulation without mention of Israel correctly, in my opinion, is more inclusive, kinder, more ethical, speaking of a human being without reference to race, gender, ethnicity. The formulation which limits the validity of the saying to the Jewish people is morally deficient. It is common practice to end a chapter such as this with one or more conclusions which lend a sense of closure to the subject under discussion. However, the Holocaust and its lessons for Jews as well as for humankind as a whole, are so close to us in time. This mitigates against the sort of dispassionate overview of influences—historical, educational, philosophical, religious— which would enable us to reach well-argued, well-thought-out, generally agreed-upon conclusions. For this reason, I suggest a certain direction for continued discussion of how we could see the central events of Jewish life in the twentieth (and twenty-first) century expressed in our family and communal life, i.e., in our festivals and holy days. I suggest focusing on ways of basing our remembrance of the Holocaust on intergenerational activities and activities that unite secular and orthodox Jews. As noted earlier, there is general agreement on the centrality in Jewish history of the destruction of the Temples (culminating with the end of Jewish sovereignty in the land of Israel, and leading to some two thousand years of exile), and the Holocaust, which preceded the return of thousands—and then millions—of Jews to our ancient homeland. Two millennia of antisemitism, of physical, economic, cultural, and religious persecution, ending in the program of genocide carried out by what had seemed to be one of the most intellectually and culturally advanced countries in Europe, have understandably left many Jews with a sense of permanent victimhood. Simultaneously many religiously observant Jews found that they could not ignore the question of why the Deity allowed His people to suffer, to the point where Jewish existence was genuinely threatened. Yet in the seven decades since the victory over Nazi Germany there has been much cause for rejoicing. Our millennia-old dream of “Next year in Jerusalem” has come true for over six million Jewish citizens of Israel, and every year sees the country thriving and developing, in spite of continuing serious threats to its existence. I therefore suggest devoting thought and discussion

122 “Israel” here means: “the Jewish people.”

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to possible changes in the balance between mourning and rejoicing, between fasting and celebration in our holidays. The sudden transition between the grief of Israel’s Memorial Day for the Fallen Soldiers and the joy of Independence Day—which begins at sunset of Memorial Day—is difficult. In the following chapter I suggest that creating a Haggadah for Independence Day (similar to the Passover Haggadah) may make this transition smoother.

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Developments and Changes in the Holidays and in How We Relate to Them The Jewish calendar not only embodies a permanent life cycle; it absorbs events in the life of the people, creating and re-creating remembrance. (Eliezer Schweid)123

We have thus far discussed three interrelated topics—identity, belonging, remembrance. Changes in the holidays throughout the years have made possible a continued sense of what constitutes Jewish identity, as well as the ongoing sense of belonging to the Jewish people. At first glance these changes may be seen as threats to identity and belonging. I believe, however, that changes in, and attitudes toward, the various holidays do not disrupt the sense of being part of the Jewish people. My basic assumption is that these developments result from changes in reality. They reflect a multi-faceted identity, and should not weaken the sense of belonging. As time goes on, a variety of identities allows more and more people to find their place among the celebrants, to feel the relevance of the holidays and festivals to themselves and their families. Our lives are by nature dynamic; culture and language are in a constant state of flux. One expression of this changeability is found in the way we celebrate holidays. In my chapter on the Holocaust, for example, I discuss the change (in 1959) of the name Holocaust and Ghetto Uprising Day to Remembrance Day

123 Schweid, The Jewish Experience of Time, 10. Galpaz-Feller writes: “The Jewish calendar is a kind of sponge which absorbs everything which happens to the people throughout the generations” (Rediscovering the Holidays, 6). [Hebrew]

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for the Holocaust and Heroism.124 The word remembrance was added. Moreover, the word heroism replaces ghetto uprisings. This reflects a change in the attitude of Israelis towards Holocaust survivors: our people acted heroically, and not only in the ghetto uprisings. We must be aware that the traditional approach to the holidays—“See this and sanctify it”—contains conservative elements, which might distance young people from identification with their people and our history. I suggest combining older traditions with newer texts, in order to create new and relevant observances for coming generations. In this chapter I discuss two central processes: a) changes in the way we celebrate a holiday, whose aim is to maintain the holiday’s relevance; b) changes in the ways we relate to the holiday. The latter will be clarified later on. In our discussion of Hannukah, for example, we will show changes in our evaluation of the Maccabees (the Hashmonaim) throughout the ages. These changes range from censoring of descriptions of the Maccabees’ deeds, during periods of Exile, through admiration of their heroism during the early period of the modern Zionist movement, as well as criticism of their extreme zealotry after the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin (1995). The educational aim of this chapter is to claim that changes in the holidays are possible, even in our day. The depictions of such developments in Israel should only be seen as examples. It is true that changes in many Israelis’ view of the Maccabees’ zealousness following the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin raise the need for a critical view of the approaches taken by zealots on every time and place. We discuss changes in the holidays in the order in which the days appear in the Jewish calendar.

1)  Changes in Rosh Hashana During the First Temple period Rosh Hashana was a joyful occasion. The renewal of nature and people’s yearning for growth and development create a

124 The motif of remembrance is threaded throughout this book. We now discuss changes in the Yizkor prayer. The latter is recited at ceremonies in memory of the fallen of the Israel Defense Force. Regarding the versions and the changes please see footnote 81 on the theme of the importance of belonging.

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festive and happy holiday. During the days of the Return to Zion (538 BCE) we find in the Book of Nehemiah: Nehemiah [. . .] said to all the people, “This day is holy to the Lord your God: you must not mourn or weep,” for all the people were weeping as they listened to the words of the Teaching. 125 He further said to them, “Go, eat choice foods and drink sweet drinks and send portions to whoever has nothing prepared, for the day is holy to our Lord. Do not be sad, for your rejoicing in the Lord is the source of your strength.” [. . .] Then all the people went to eat and drink and send portions and make great merriment (Nehemiah 8:9–12). After the final destruction of the Temple, Rosh Hashana changed from a day of joy to a day of judgment. Nahum Wahrmann explains this development: With the destruction of the Temple, the animal sacrifices ceased, as did the thrice-yearly pilgrimage to Jerusalem; this resulted in a significant change in the content and format of Rosh Hashana. For example, the connection between the holiday on 1 Tishrei and the harvest festival of Sukkot was not emphasized. Rather, the emphasis fell on the fact that the day marked the beginning of the new year. [. . .] Rabbi Meir completed this change in Rosh Hashana: “Everyone is judged on Rosh Hashana and sentenced on Yom Kippur” (Tosefta Rosh hashana 81, 12). Thus, Rosh Hashana changed from a holiday of “great happiness” during the Second Temple period to a day of judgment [. . .] and fear of punishment [. . .]. Rosh Hashana was separated from the joy of Sukkot and became part of one unit, together with the day of repentance and penitence—Yom Kippur.126 In other words, changes in Jewish life following the destruction of the Temple led to cultural developments which were expressed in the ways in which the holidays were celebrated. I suggest that this is what should happen in our day.

125 My italics—I. P. 126 Wahrmann, The Holidays and Festivals of the Jewish People, 15–16. For a more extensive discussion of the development of Rosh Hashana from a day of celebration to a day of judgment, see ibid., 26–27.

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2)  Changes in Yom Kippur In the Jewish calendar Yom Kippur is a day of fasting, of begging forgiveness for our sins. But it was not always so. In the Mishnah, for example, we find a description of the festivities of Tu (15) B’Av and of Yom Kippur, in which the latter are termed “good days for Israel”: Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel said: There are no better days for Israel than 15 Av and Yom Kippur, when the people of Jerusalem go out in borrowed white clothes, so that it will be impossible to discern the rich from the poor [. . .]. The daughters of Jerusalem go out to the vineyards and dance. And what do the young women say [to the young men]? “Open your eyes and see— what do you choose?” (Ta’anit 4:8). According to this source, Yom Kippur is certainly a “good day.” Biblical scholar Prof. Itamar Kislev (raised as a modern orthodox) notes that: Tu B’Av and Yom Kippur fall during the grape harvest and the custom of young women dancing in the vineyards is part of the festivities of the harvest. The Mishnah’s description is reminiscent of the story told in Judges, in which young men from the tribe of Benjamin [those who were forbidden to take wives from other tribes, following the events told in the story of the concubine of Gibeah] kidnapped wives for themselves from among the daughters of Shiloh who were dancing in the vineyards: “[The elders of the community] said, ‘The annual feast of the Lord is now being held at Shiloh.’ [. . .] So they instructed the Benjaminites as follows: ‘Go and lie in wait in the vineyards. As soon as you see the girls of Shiloh coming out to join the dances, come out from the vineyards; let each of you seize a wife from among the girls of Shiloh, and be off for the land of Benjamin’” ( Judges 21:19–23).127

127 See Itamar Kislev, “Dances and Matchmaking on Yom Kippur” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: Yom Kippur, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2007), 17–18.

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There was, in other words, a dramatic change in Yom Kippur. Nahum Wahrmann plays down this change and notes that the custom of dancing in the vineyards was one of many traditions created during the Second Temple period. His explanation—important for our purposes—is that the closeness in time of Yom Kippur to the grape harvest led to the custom of dancing in the vineyards on Yom Kippur: “Some say that Yom Kippur, as well as Rosh Hashana, serve as a preface, an overture, to Sukkot, the Festival of the Harvest. Just as Sukkot is devoted to rejoicing, this joy leaves its mark on the observances of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.”128

3)  Changes in Hanukkah The Jewish holidays have undergone frequent changes in which traditional content is renewed; this has often resulted in their unique Jewish content decreasing and their universal meaning increasing. This process, as we would expect, has taken place to a greater extent in certain holidays. Passover, which celebrates the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt, and Hanukkah, in memory of the Jewish uprising against the Syrian-Greek conquerors, were quite naturally transformed into holidays of freedom. Both tell of liberation from the burden of rule by a foreign regime, and predict struggles for freedom and independence in our time. Passover is the best example [. . .]. Hanukkah has also undergone a similar metamorphosis. The holiday originally marked the Hashmonean zealots’ victory over Jewish assimilationists—the cosmopolitan Hellenists. This story been transformed into one of political liberation, with a broader human message.129 As is the case with other holidays, Hanukkah has changed form and content throughout the generations. We shall focus on two areas: First of all, we shall examine shifts in attitudes toward the Maccabees’ heroism, and especially to their perceived zealotry. These focal points have in common a dynamism

128 See Wahrmann, The Holidays and Festivals of the Jewish People, 46. 129 Zisser and Lieberman, To Choose Life, 84–85 (my italics—I. P.).

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vis-à-vis the Maccabees’ heroism, both during the long period of Diaspora, and in Israel since the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin at the hands of a political-religious extremist in 1995. Secondly, we then conclude with an example of shifts in emphasis and in customs. The latter resulted from the need to suit the observances to different times and places, and were influenced by the customs of the gentiles among whom our people lived during some two millennia of Diaspora. Our example is the game of spinning a top (dreidel), which Jews of northern Europe adopted from their gentile neighbors. The words of historian Salo Baron on developments as to how we relate to heroism are worth quoting at length: The change in how we understand the historical facts—via a new evaluation of the meaning of heroism—is great. From early times Judaism has admired kiddush hashem [sanctification of God’s Name through acts of martyrdom], and both Christianity and Islam have followed in the same direction. The concept of kiddush hashem has entered human history by way of the revolt of the Maccabees, and this direction was strengthened by the growing opposition of the Pharisees and the Talmud Sages to the Hashmonean dynasty. From this point on, it is not the Maccabee fighting in the battlefield, but rather the Maccabean martyr, who is most admired in Jewish and Christian tradition. The story of Hannah and her seven sons, as told in the apocryphal 2 Maccabees 7, pushed out of the people’s consciousness the images of Mattathias and his sons and their heroism on the battlefield. The Talmud poses the question: “What is Hanukkah?” and merely mentions the holiday in a few words. The events of the national liberation movement were almost forgotten during the Talmud period; they were replaced by the miracle of the jar of oil which burned for eight days—and to this day is recalled in the holiday’s customs.130

130 Salo Baron, Worldwide Dimensions of Jewish History ( Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1996), 28 (my italics—I. P.). In the afterword of this book, I return to Prof. Salo Baron; see “Conclusion: Lessons from our journey through the Jewish calendar,” 1963, 29-33. The Books of the Maccabees are part of the Apocrypha in Jewish and Protestant traditions. 1 and 2 Maccabees are part of Roman Catholicism’s Douay-Rheims Bible and appear chronologically in the Old Testament.

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The tension between divine salvation and human bravery as causes of success in a struggle date back to the early biblical books. In the story of the splitting of the Red Sea in Exodus 14, for example, the question arises of who brought about the miracle: God or Moses? In the Haggadah it is made clear that the miracle took place not via an angel, and not via a messenger (Moses), but through the actions of the Deity. In the story of the victory over the Syrian-Greeks there is tension between the emphasis on the divine miracle as the cause of victory, which was common mainly during the period of Exile, and the attribution of the victory to the Hashmoneans, which became part of the Zionist ethos.

a)  By what right was the story of the Maccabees’ heroism censored?131 Let us begin with the angry words of Yitzhak Kalimi: The victories of the Hashmoneans over the Greeks were undoubtedly the most splendid, heroic deeds in the history of the Jewish people during the Second Temple period. [. . .] The source of this magnificent tale—composed mainly in Hebrew— is the apocryphal 1 Maccabees. But “miracle of miracles!”— the books of the Maccabees are not part of the Jewish biblical canon. Indeed, they have been doomed to annihilation! This abandonment of a most important work of historiography, of a most fateful period in the history of our people, is little less than scandalous. Those who appointed themselves as censors of the “secrets” of the people and its creations tried to erase in one fell swoop a vital chapter in Jewish history.132 As we shall see, there was a change in emphasis: in observances of the holiday, historiographical description of the heroism of the Hashmoneans gave way to the legend of the jar of oil. Again, in Kalimi’s words: “The practical, worthy

131 See Gedaliah Alon, “Did the People and Its Sages Make the Hasmoneans Forgotten?” [Hebrew], Studies in Jewish History 1 (1978): 15–25. 132 Yitzhak Kalimi, “The Story of the Bravery of the Hashmoneans” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: Hanukkah, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2011), 8-11.

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answer of the State of Israel should—indeed must—be to do historical justice to the Hashmoneans. In other words, to study, to teach, and at long last to return the books of the Maccabees and their glorious deeds to their rightful place in the people’s memory.”133 The modern Zionist movement emphasizes the Hashmoneans’ physical bravery as a characteristic to be admired and copied. The Zionists saw—and as long as Israel’s physical existence is threatened, many still see—themselves as continuing in the path paved by the Maccabees. During the centuries of exile the miracle of the jar of oil, produced by the Deity, took the place of the Maccabees’ heroism as the central focus of the holiday. From the beginning of the renewed settlement of the Land in the nineteenth and twentieth century, the Maccabees’ bravery—rather than the miracle of the jar of oil—has been focused on. Or in the words of Hananel Mack: The most significant development in the nature of the holiday is the emphasis placed upon renewed memories of the battles and victories of the Hashmoneans, and especially the motif of wars of the few against the many: the human, the down-to-earth aspect of Hanukkah. This is seen in a variety of symbols which have come to the fore since the establishment of the Jewish yishuv in the latter part of the nineteenth and twentieth century. The holiday of Hanukkah has thus become a symbol of the physical bravery of Jews, as well as of renewed connection to the land of Israel, and the literary creations which have given expression to this connection. “Maccabee,” for example, is the name of Israel’s largest sports club, and divine miracles have given way to “Israeli heroism.”134 It is important, however, to give credit to the tradition, which developed after the failure of the Bar Kochba rebellion against the Romans in 135 CE (and continued during almost two millennia of exile), according to which the Sages discouraged Jews from attempting to engage in armed uprisings. This should probably be seen as a practical survival strategy, rather than as encouraging passivity for its own sake. In the course of the centuries, when “Next year 133 Ibid. 134 Hananel Mack, “History of Hanukkah” [Hebrew], in The Days of the Hasmoneans: Sources, Conclusions, Selected Aspects, ed. Amit Eshel (Jerusalem: Ben Zvi Press, 1995), 323 (my italics—I. P.).

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in Jerusalem” was understood to be always in the future, religious leaders encouraged their people to be comforted by the thought of a future divine miracle which would make unnecessary the kind of human heroism which characterized the Maccabees, and which was generally unsuccessful. Please allow a personal note—one which I believe, however, I hold in common with many “sabras” of my generation, born in Israel shortly after the establishment of the State in 1948. As a Zionist, proud of my country, I have always felt great admiration for the struggle of my Hashmonean forefathers for national liberation, for independence. As were my parents’ generation, I have always been encouraged by the Maccabees’ bravery, especially during difficult, challenging times. For me the central lesson of the Maccabean uprising is the importance of Jews taking our people’s destiny into our own hands. In the face of those Jews who believed, or still believe, that we must wait for a savior, a mashiach who will restore the Jewish people to its ancestral homeland, the Zionist movement stands for an activist approach, for establishing a Jewish national home in the Land of Israel, over which we have political sovereignty. Or in the words of Simon the high priest (the Hashmonean): “We have neither taken foreign land nor seized foreign property, but only the inheritance of our fathers, which at one time had been unjustly taken by our enemies. Now that we have the opportunity, we are firmly holding the inheritance of our fathers” (1 Maccabees 15:33–34).135

b)  For and against the miracle in Hanukkah songs Zionism’s identification with the Maccabees’ heroism is expressed in songs sung by children during Hanukkah. Some examples: 1) Hava narima by Levin-Kipnis: “We are Maccabees / Our banner is raised and true. / We have fought the Greeks / and victory is ours.” 2) Yemei Hahanukkah: “[We tell of] the miracles and wonders / done by the Maccabees.” The word miracles is used, but the miracles are attributed to the Maccabees rather than to the Deity. 3) Mi yimalel by M. Rabina: “In those days, at this time, the Maccabee saved and redeemed us. [. . .] / In our time the whole people of Israel will unite, arise and be redeemed.”

135 KJV translation.

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4) Last, but certainly not least, this activist approach to our people’s destiny appears clearly in Aharon Ze’ev’s Anu nos’im lapidim: “We bear torches in dark nights / [. . .] No miracle happened to us / We found no jar of oil.”136 These songs reflect the spirit of the period in which they were written, which was characterized by a tension between the heroism of the Maccabees and a perceived need to emphasize divine intervention via miracles. Judah the Maccabee was the leader of the Hashmonean armed uprising; the victory over the Greek conquerors resulted in a period of political, cultural and religious independence for the Jews. The tension between a miracle and the victory of the Maccabees can be exemplified by the following: first of all, there is the question of how the name maccabee is spelled in Hebrew—with the letter kaf or koof. When spelled with koof—‫—ק‬the word’s root is clearly makevet, “hammer,” which expresses the physical strength of the leader. However, when spelled with kaf—‫—כ‬the word maccabee (‫ )מכבי‬is actually the abbreviation of the Hebrew words of Exodus 15:11—“Who (‫—מי‬mi in Hebrew) is like You (‫—כמוך‬kamocha in Hebrew) among the celestials (‫—באלים‬ba-elim in Hebrew), O Lord (‫—יה‬yod-hei).” A second example of the tension between human action and divine miracle is found in those Hanukkah songs that emphasize the miracle: A little jar Gave us oil for eight days, All the people were astounded As it refilled itself [. . .] And declared: “This is a miracle!” (words by A. Assman)

c)  Is the story of the miracle of the jar of oil, which burned for eight days, inspired by the Bible? The miracle of the jar of oil is the main expression of the miraculous in the holiday of Hanukkah. The story is first mentioned in the Babylonian Talmud

136 See my discussion of belonging—page 46 note 64 [wherein we saw that after the establishment of the State of Israel both children’s songs and coins minted for the new country reflected the identification of the founders of modern Zionism with the Hashmoneans.

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(completed in the sixth century CE)—in other words, centuries after the days of the Hashmoneans (beginning 165 BCE). In writings dating from the Hashmonean period, or shortly after, the miracle of the jar of oil is not mentioned. It is natural to ask: did it really happen? For our purposes, however, the more compelling question is the source of this wonderful story. We know, of course, that the Bible served—and still serves—as a source of inspiration for many creations; thus, I suggest looking to the Bible. A very early source of this theme is the story of the burning bush, which is not consumed (Exodus 3): The concept of the bush which burns but is not consumed may very well be the source of the oil which burns but is not used up. An obvious biblical source is the stories of the prophet Elisha (2 Kings 4:1–7) and Elijah (1 Kings 17: 8–16): The story of the prophet Elisha tells us about a poor widow who pleads with Elisha to help her to support her two children; the only possession in her house is one jug of oil. The prophet tells the widow to borrow empty oil vessels from all her neighbors, and then fill them up with oil from her one jug. She continues filling the vessels until there are no more to be borrowed, and then is able to sell the oil—thus paying her debts and living on the remainder. And in the story of the prophet Elijah we read: “The jar of the flour did not give out, nor did the jug of oil fail, just as the Lord had spoken through Elijah.” In both stories we have the same motif of “few” (oil) which miraculously becomes “many.”137 It is probable that the Sages revitalized the biblical stories of the miracle of the oil jar in Elijah and Elisha in order to play down the concept of physical bravery on the part of the Hashmoneans and emphasize God’s greatness via the tale of the divine miracle of the oil jar. The Sages identified with this story and aimed to transmit to their children a miraculous message, in order to instill in them courage and hope (for miracle).138

137 It is worth noting that the story of Elisha and the oil vessel shows similarities to the story of the miracle of the oil jar not only as a motif, but also linguistically. 138 The Sages in their wisdom decided—apparently for reasons of survival—not to mention “Do not rebel against the gentiles (in their kingdoms)” as one of “the three oaths,” which were developed in the wake of the failure of the Bar Kochba rebellion in 135 C.E. Another oath was to “wait for the coming of the Messiah.” For more about this, see in this book the section “Point of order—A suggestion: Strengthening the Haggadah’s Zionist message.”

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d)  Hashmonean (Maccabees’) zealotry and its dangers. Changes in how the Maccabees’ heroism is viewed after the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, of blessed memory In the biblical story of the prophet Elijah, the latter presents himself as a zealot: “I am moved by zeal for the Lord, the God of Hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken Your covenant” (1 Kings 19:14). Elijah’s zealotry is connected to Hanukkah and serves as an inspiration for Mattityahu and his sons in their zealotry. I thus posit the question of whether the story of the oil jar is intended to “soften” Elijah’s image as a zealot. Holidays change form and content throughout the centuries; traditions are changed and renewed while stories from the past are also reinterpreted. It may be that one of these developments is the wish to play down—or even censor—stories of human heroism. Although there certainly was a wish to glorify God’s power, it is likely that the aim is to prevent future generations from attempting to imitate the heroes of the past and thereby risking their lives in what is almost certainly a “lost cause.” The Zionist movement was to restore the story of the Maccabees’ heroism. Yet, following November 4, 1995, the day on which Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated by a religious-political extremist, many Israelis began to take a new, more critical look at the Hashmonean ethos of heroism on which we were raised. The assassin himself identified with Mattityahu’s violent acts, which were directed at other Jews; this led many of us to question the validity of the Maccabees as figures to admire and emulate. Mattityahu, the father of Judah the Maccabee, known as “zealous for the Torah,” served as an exemplar for his sons. The precursor of Mattityahu was none other than Phinehas, the son of Aaron the priest and nephew of Moses. During the Israelites’ wanderings in the desert there was a period in which “the people profaned themselves by whoring with the Moabite women.” When an Israelite man—Zimri ben Salu—and a Moabite woman—Cozbi bat Zur— were seen to sin in public, Phinehas “left the assembly and, taking a spear in his hand, he followed the Israelite into the chamber and stabbed both of them, the Israelite and the woman, through the belly” (Numbers 25: 1, 7–8). In 1 Maccabees we read: [A] Jew came forward in the sight of all to offer sacrifice upon the altar in Modein, according to the king’s command. When Mattathias saw it, he burned with zeal and his heart was stirred. He gave vent to righteous anger; he ran and killed him upon the altar. At the same time, he killed the king’s officer who was

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forcing them to sacrifice, and he tore down the altar. Thus, he burned with zeal for the law, as Phinehas did against Zimri the son of Salu (1 Maccabees 2:23–26). The story of Phinehas, in other words, inspired and legitimized the deeds of the Hashmoneans when the latter behaved violently towards those of their fellowJews who chose to adopt religious and social customs of the Greek conquerors (the so-called Hellenistic Jews).

e)  How should we deal with our complex attitude toward the Maccabees’ heroism? Even though I am critical of what I see as the Maccabees’ extreme zealotry, I do not invalidate their heroic and just struggle for our people’s liberation from a foreign occupier. Moreover, unlike those of our forefathers who hid away and censored depictions of the Hashmonean heroism—for whatever reason—I believe that we should adopt and encourage the positive aspects of their deeds, i.e., their uncompromising struggle for freedom and independence. At the same time, it is important for us to take a critical approach to their extreme religious and cultural zealotry, which led them to commit acts of wanton violence against Jews whose religious and cultural stands differed from theirs. Our criticism of the Maccabees’ zealotry—or what is currently termed extremism—together with our admiration for their just struggle for our people’s freedom and independence—should be at the basis of our educational program. To sum up our discussion of the Maccabees’ heroism and zealotry—in the light of the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin at the hands of a religious-political extremist—I suggest taking a two-pronged approach. On the one hand, we should view the Maccabees’ bravery, their determined struggle for political and religious sovereignty, as worthy of emulation, and our celebration of the holiday should center on the values of physical bravery, of fighting the just fight for independence, of taking responsibility for national sovereignty. On the other hand, we should not hide, or even censor, examples of internecine violence which are part of the story of the Hashmonean wars, but rather use them as educational tools. Therefore, as we sing, dance, tell stories, and generally celebrate the heroism of Mattityahu and his sons, we should devote attention to debates on the outcome of zealotry in our people’s life, then and now.

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f)  The spinning top (dreidel) and Hanukkah I should like to conclude this discussion of changes and developments in Hanukkah observances on an upbeat note, with an example of changes in a custom familiar to Ashkenazi Jewry. This will enable us to see how changes in traditions—often learned from the surrounding non-Jewish community—keep the substance of the holiday relevant.139 Games played with a spinning top are part of children’s Hanukkah celebrations. In the Northern hemisphere the holiday falls during or just before the winter solstice, characterized as it is by cold, inclement weather and fewer hours of daylight. Thus children, and adults too, spend afternoons and evenings inside, and often pass the time playing indoor games. The spinning top serves us as an example of changes in holiday observances throughout the generations. Although the source of the top has been posited as India, Uri Sela suggests that the toy came from the island of Sardinia, where ancient spinning tops with letters engraved on the sides have been found.140 It is commonly accepted that the top entered Jewish culture in Germany; German Jews learned the game from their gentile neighbors, who devoted time on long winter evenings to a game played with a top. The game was played for money, which was deposited in a “kitty.” The “gentile” spinning top had four sides, each with a letter: N—nisht—the spinner receives nothing from the “kitty.” G—ganz—the spinner receives everything in the “kitty” H—halb—the spinner receives half the contents of the “kitty” S—shtel—the spinner must add money to the “kitty.” On learning the game from friends and neighbors, the Jews Hebraicized the letters and their meaning in the way familiar to us: N, G, H, S became ‫ש‬-‫ה‬-‫ג‬-‫נ‬, which stands for “A great miracle took place there (i.e., in the land of Israel). Since the beginning of the Zionist settlement of the land, the S was replaced with P: “A great miracle took place here.”

139 Spinning the top is not the only holiday custom that has been “converted to Judaism.” See my discussion of the Purim customs of eating hamentaschen and making noise at the mention of Haman’s name. 140 See Yoel Rappel, ed., Jewish Holidays’ Encyclopedia [Hebrew] (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers: Mo’d, 2004), 240–241.

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A few years ago I had the honor of speaking to a group of pensioners from Kibbutz Hazorea, all of whom had made aliya from Germany to Israel in the 1930s. As children, they had indeed been familiar with the game as played by their gentile neighbors—although they did not make the connection between that game and the “Jewish” version. We thus see how traditions change in accordance with changes in time and place. These developments are welcome; they enable the holiday to continue its relevance to new generations.

4)  Changes in Tu b’Shvat—From the Beginning of the Fiscal Year to a Zionist Holiday When you enter the land and plant any tree [. . .]. (Leviticus 19:23)

In the words of Yochi Brandes: “The many reversals and changes in Tu B’shvat illustrate the growth of our culture, because culture, like a tree, has deep roots which must be preserved, and branches which must be pruned. Only a tree which is pruned and repaired can continue to bear fruit.”141 The planting of trees on Tu B’shvat is a gentile custom which was adopted by the Zionist movement in order to strengthen the ties of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel and its soil—this connection was forcibly severed during the long centuries of exile. There are a number of sources for this holiday. Dating back to the biblical period, as Brandes notes, the “New Year of the Trees,” as the day is often termed, was the occasion of tithing, of taxation, and at first was, for understandable reasons, not considered a holiday. Some scholars believe that the day became a festival during the period of the Mishnah, and others claim that this happened in the sixteenth century, when the Kabbalists of Safed celebrated with a festive meal (a seder) in which they ate of the fruits of the land and drank red and white wines—as well as saying prayers and expressing kabbalistic “intentions.” In the course of time, it came to represent love of trees and fruits of the Land; the occasion of a halakhic tikkun; and a joyous day of planting.”142 Another source is possibly Candlemas (February 2), a Catholic festival marking the purification of the Virgin Mary after the presentation of the infant

141 Brandes, The Unknown Judaism, 222. 142 Ibid.

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Jesus at the Temple, and celebrated in rural areas of Spain by the planting of trees. As is the case with Tu B’shvat, there are climatic considerations for this date in both Spain and the Middle East—February marks the midpoint between winter and summer, and in the Middle East is known for its heavy rains—which make this time of year appropriate for tree-planting.143 According to Yehudit Steiman, “Tu B’shvat can be traced back to a European, pagan custom of planting trees on May Day (May 1): this custom was ’sneaked’ into Tu B’shvat, where it has very different meanings.” The process of absorbing other traditions has accompanied the development of our festivals and holy days throughout the millennia, and is of course legitimate and even desirable. I believe that we should encourage the adoption of this “new blood” into our Jewish traditions, in order to maintain the holiday’s relevance in new times and places. “Of all our Jewish holidays, Tu B’shvat,” as Steiman notes, “is the clearest example of the Zionist revolution’s aim of re-connecting with the landscape and soil of the homeland.”144 Tu B’shvat exemplifies two of the central themes of this book: the first is the importance of rejoicing: there is no sorrow in this festival. The second theme is the reversals and changes which have taken place in our holidays, and the importance of accepting, and even encouraging, these developments. The developments in the celebration of Tu B’shvat which are part of the Zionist return to our homeland provide examples of how holidays change. On Tu B’shvat in 1892 Ze’ev Javets, a teacher and school principal in Zichron Ya’akov, turned an outing with his pupils to plant trees into a celebration for the whole village. His example was made official in 1908, when the Teachers’ Union declared Tu B’shvat a holiday of planting trees.145 In the same year the Jewish National Fund adopted 15 Shvat as a day devoted to planting trees. In 1965 Tu B’shvat received an additional change. The Israel National Parks Authority and the Society for the Protection of Nature launched a campaign for saving the wildflowers of our country, with the assistance of school programs, posters, and Naomi Shemer’s still-popular song, which opens with: “The narcissi are already flowering in the nature preserves / The coasts are covered with carpets [of wildflowers] / And the law says—Don’t pick them!”

143 See Nancy Rosenfeld, “Trees, Kings and Muses: Robert Grabes’s Battle of the Trees and Jotham’s Parable of the Trees,” Papers on Language and Literature 41, no. 2 (Spring 2005): 196–214, here 200. 144 Yehudit Steinman, Shaping the Image of the New Hebrew Child [Hebrew] (PhD diss.,Tel Aviv University, Tel Aviv, 2002, 220. 145 Ibid., 224.

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The last two centuries (since the onset of the Haskala—the Jewish Enlightenment) have witnessed an ongoing dialogue between tradition and renewal, between preservation and change. Talmi et al discuss developments in the festival of Tu B’shvat: Tu B’shvat has taken on many forms throughout the generations, and has had a variety of meanings: at first it marked the beginning of the fiscal year; then it expressed our yearning for the Kabbalistic “tree of Godhead”—as well as for the trees, fruits, and tastes of the Land; finally, it is part of the celebration of our commitment to the earth of our old-new homeland. This variety of values enables us to embody new values, ones suited to the changing world and society in which we live. At this point in time, the holiday enables us to focus on nature, on the physical world surrounding us, and encourages us to take an active role in caring for the earth and preserving it for future generations.146 My main conclusion from this discussion of changes in holiday observance generally, and Tu B’shvat in particular, is that each generation should be encouraged to re-create and to suit each holiday to our changing world. As noted by Talmi et al, “we discern a connection between Tu B’shvat and between our awareness of ecology in the biblical story of the Flood: after being destroyed by a catastrophic flood, our planet began to be renewed during the month of Shvat (Genesis 8:8–11).”147 The story of Honi Hame’agel (Honi who draws circles)—from the Babylonian Talmud, tractate Ta’anit—illustrates the connection between humans and trees, as well as the understanding that education is a long-term project, spanning generations: One day when Honi was out walking he saw a man planting a carob tree. Honi: “When will this tree bear fruit?” The man: “In another seventy years.” Honi: “Are you sure that you’ll be around in another seventy years?” The man: “After I was born, I found a carob tree that was already bearing fruit. Just as my fathers planted a tree for me, I am now planting for my son.”

146 Talmi et al., Holiday Rituals, 230–231 (my italics—I. P.). 147 Ibid.

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The story continues with Honi Hame’agel falling into a deep sleep. Seventy years later, when he awakens, he sees the man’s grandson eating from the fruit of the tree that his grandfather had planted.

5)  Changes in Purim and in Our Attitude toward It For Jewish children, and for many adults as well, Purim is first and foremost the holiday of costumes. Many people find it surprising that this custom dates back to the Middle Ages. In the Torah we find explicit prohibition of wearing costumes: “A woman must not put on man’s apparel, nor shall a man put on women’s clothing; for whoever does these things is abhorrent to the Lord your God” (Deuteronomy 22:5). However, Rabbi Moses Isserles (c.1530–1572), author of an important commentary to the Shulhan Aruch, declared a halakha that “When one wears masks on Purim, and a man puts on a woman’s dress, or a woman dresses in man’s clothing, it is not forbidden, since it is merely intended to create joy.”148

a)  The source of the rattle (grager) during Purim The source of the rattle/noisemaker as part of the celebration of Purim is apparently a gentile custom, as is the case with the spinning top on Hanukkah and the Purim costumes. In Jewish communities, when the Book of Esther is read aloud as part of holiday observances, it is customary to make noise by shaking rattles whenever Haman’s name is mentioned in the text. According to Aliza Shinhar-Elro’i: A possible source of the noise maker is Greece of the Middle Ages. Rattles were used by the Catholic Church to call the faithful to prayer during the last four days before Easter [. . .] The Jews adopted this custom and made wooden or metal rattles in order to frighten their gentile neighbors with the noise.149

148 “It is therefore likely that the source of the custom of dressing up on Purim is the various carnivals held in Europe immediately prior to the beginning of Lent, which fall during the same season as Purim,” Wahrmann, The Holidays and Festivals of the Jewish People, 124. 149 Aliza Shinhar-Elro’i, “Rattle” [Hebrew], in Jewish Holidays’ Encyclopedia, ed. Yoel Rappel (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers, 2004), 365.

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Once again, we should see the adoption of this non-Jewish custom as completely legitimate.

b)  What is educational about eating hamentaschen? The custom of baking and eating hamentaschen on Purim is a symbolic act whose indirect source is the Bible: Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt—how, undeterred by the fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. Therefore, when the Lord your God grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that the Lord your God is giving you as a heredity portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget! (Deuteronomy 25:17–19). Haman, as we learn from the Book of Esther (3:10: “Haman son of Hamendatha the Agagite”) and 1 Samuel 15:8 (“King Agag of Amalek”), is a descendant of Amalek; both Amalek and Haman are symbols of the enemies of the Jewish people, or in modern terms, of antisemitism in general and genocide against our people in particular: Haman then said to the king: There is a certain people, scattered dispersed among the other peoples in all the provinces of your realm, whose laws are different from those of any other people and who do not obey the king’s laws, and it is not in Your Majesty’s interest to tolerate them. If it please Your Majesty, let an edict be drawn for their destruction (Esther 3:8–9). Eating hamentaschen—“Haman’s pocket” in Yiddish—baked triangles of dough with sweet fillings such as poppyseeds, dates, halvah) is a comparatively late custom, whose source is Eastern Europe. In Hebrew these cookies are known as oznei haman—Haman’s ears,” probably because of their shape. It is possible that German Jews “borrowed” this custom from their gentile neighbors, who baked and ate “Judas ears” on Holy Thursday and Good

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Friday,150 thus symbolically recalling Judas Iscariot, Jesus’s beloved follower, who betrayed Christ to the Roman authorities for a payment of thirty pieces of silver. Even though the custom of eating “Haman’s ears,” body-parts of a hated enemy, is not exclusively Jewish, the question arises: Is there any educational value in this custom? I would suggest doing without this custom. 151

c)  The Book of Esther as a Zionist manifesto Is it possible to turn our reading of the Book of Esther on Purim from a “Diaspora text” into a “Zionist manifesto”? Until recently one of the reasons for ambivalence toward Purim and the Book of Esther in Israel is that the book is seen as focusing on an existential threat to the Jewish people which arose and then was successfully dealt with in the place of Exile (galut), rather than via a return to our Promised Land. In other words, while the Zionist movement believed that the solution to antisemitism lay in Jewish settlement of our homeland, the Book of Esther can be seen as solving the problem of the existential threat to Jewry in Shushan. Yehoshua Getty offers a different reading of the Book, in which it should be seen as the great Zionist manifesto. Getty’s interpretation is in complete opposition to the anti-Zionist approach of some Israeli scholars. As I have already suggested, it is important to keep an open mind as to interpretations of the Bible and of the various Jewish holidays. In Getty’s view, we must understand the Book in the light of the period in which it was written, i.e., the fourth century BCE, subsequent to the Declaration of King Cyrus of Persia, which enabled the Jews of Babylon to return to the Land, to Zion. Cyrus is presented as god’s messenger, calling upon all Jews to return to the Land of Israel.152 “In the first year of King Cyrus of Persia, when the word of the Lord spoken by Jeramiah was fulfilled the Lord roused the spirit of King Cyrus of Persia [. . .],” Ezra said that the God “has charged me with building Him a house in

150 Ibid., 299. 151 We should, admittedly, keep in mind that it is mainly in Israel that the name of the cookie is taken from a body part. In other places children are told, for example, that the cookie’s shape came from the three-cornered hat, which was once popular for men in Europe. Yet I would feel more comfortable if this popular cookie were not named for a body part. 152 See 2 Chronicles 36:22–23; Ezra 1.

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Jerusalem [. . .]. Anyone of you of all His people [. . .] let him go up to Jerusalem” (Ezra 1:1–3). At that time, however, when Persia was ruled by King Ahasuerus, few members of the large Jewish diaspora took advantage of the possibility of “making aliya”; most chose to remain in Babylon. Getty’s view of the Book offers a solution to a question which scholars have long pondered: the absence of any reference to the Deity in the whole Book. Unlike earlier biblical holidays, the central dramatic event of the Book—King Ahasuerus’s change of mind from agreeing to the genocide of his Jewish citizens to ordering their release from a mass death-sentence—is not the result of divine intervention. Passover, the festival of freedom and redemption, celebrates God’s direct acts in bringing out His people from freedom to slavery. The Jews of Persia, on the other hand, were saved at the last minute thanks to flesh-and-blood leaders who were able to “work on” the king, in part via trickery. This is not a genuine solution to the situation of Persian Jews; it was, rather, a temporary solution to the difficulties of Jewish life in the Galut. Getty bases his interpretation on the assumption that the Jews of Persia would have been expected to see Cyrus’s Declaration as divinely inspired. According to Getty: “We should conclude that as long as the people willingly chose to live in exile, and the solution to the problem [of Jewish existence] offered by Mordechai and Esther was not a Divine solution, that is, one based on Cyrus’s Declaration, God chose not to give His name to a solution in which His people were dependent on the good-will of a crazy king. This is reason enough for the absence of His name from the Book.” How is the above connected to the modern Zionist movement, according to Getty: the parallel to Zionism is interesting. Zionism sees the problem of the Jew in the Diaspora, the danger of antisemitism, as a result of the very fact of Jewish existence in the Diaspora. [. . .] The Book of Esther presents the Zionist worldview, and therefore should be read as a Zionist manifesto with its own profound content. 153 This is certainly an original and challenging view: Getty offers us a new view of the Book: no longer an “anti-Zionist” document, but rather a “Zionist manifesto.”

153 Yehoshua Getty, “The Book of Esther—The Great Feminist Manifesto” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: Purim, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2011).

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6)  Changes in Passover and Their Importance in Education In the words of the introduction to Hatsa’ah l’Seder, a new (kibbutz) version of the traditional Seder: Our kibbutz Haggadah was composed and edited by a team of scholars from Oranim College. We have tried to suggest a wide variety of options for holiday ceremonies suited to various types of Israeli families. We have used the Jewish people’s common method: offering a new interpretation of a traditional text. Our aim is to penetrate the many layers of tradition and raise up the strata most meaningful to us today.154 The composers of the above—a suggestion for a pluralistic kibbutz Seder— chose “tradition and renewal” as their main subtitle. The kibbutz Haggadah, of which there are a number of versions, and which may still be considered a “work in progress,” is an excellent example of the changes and developments in our holiday observances. The composers have two methods: first, reading the traditional Haggadah carefully and in depth; and secondly, extracting and focusing on those levels relevant to our time and place. When the composers of the kibbutz Haggadah speak of “we,” “our,” they refer to Jews who are not religiously orthodox, i.e., do not organize their lives according to the 613 mitzvot of traditional rabbinical Judaism, but who do have a profound identity and sense of belonging to the Jewish people. We respect the ancient holiday customs and observances, while viewing them as guidelines and sources of inspiration, rather than as sacred rules which cannot be changed and must be obeyed in the finest detail. The above approach to ancient texts—at one and the same time respectful and critical—is that of this book: changes and developments in holiday observances throughout the centuries are certainly legitimate and generally positive in that they enable renewal and creativity. The possibility of change serves a double purpose in the education of a younger generation: encouraging an ongoing sense of the relevance of our people’s past history and traditions, as well as supporting a definition of Jewish peoplehood as inclusive, as able to welcome the “Other” present within our people.

154 Shai Zarhi et al., A Proposal for the Seder: The Passover Haggadah, Tradition and Renewal [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Yediot aharonot, 2001), 7.

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In this chapter we have already discussed changes in Hanukkah and Purim, exemplified by the adoption in most Jewish communities of customs whose sources were non-Jewish: the spinning top, the noise-maker, and hamentaschen. We shall now discuss certain more recent changes in observances connected with Passover. The Omer festivity, which has been a tradition in Ein Hashofet (my kibbutz) for over eighty years, exemplifies how a change can be an educational means of preservation.

a)  The re-working of the biblical Omer in our time As part of this examination of changes in festivals and holy days I propose to devote attention to the ceremony of the Omer, as it has been practiced in Israeli agricultural settlements for about a century. The Omer provides us with a possibly unique development: a word which had a meaning in biblical times as part of a religious ceremony becomes the name of a secular, agricultural ceremony practiced from the beginning of the Zionist settlement of the Land; the Zionist movement in general and the kibbutzim in particular have seen the Omer as an agricultural rite worthy of becoming a new tradition. In the words of Sarah Shoub: The focus on the historical content—as opposed to the agricultural content—of each holiday dates back to the pre-Exile period, when our people lived on and worked the land. There is a simple reason for this: To the extent that a holiday was based upon an event in the agricultural year, it was always with us; there was no possibility of forgetting the sowing of seeds, the spring and autumn harvests, the need for rain and dew to irrigate the land. But an historical aspect of a holiday is always in a past which grows more and more distant. [. . .] There is thus the danger that the historical strata of holidays will be forgotten, unless strengthened by way of ceremonies and texts.155

155 Sarah Shoub, Beyond the Realm of the Profane, A Study of Jewish Holidays and Festivals [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: MOFET Institute, 2011), 13.

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The word omer appears in the Bible (Leviticus 23:10–12; Deuteronomy 24:19; Ruth 2:7); its meaning herein is a sheaf (of grain). The Deity tells Moses to speak the following to the Israelites: When you enter the land that I am giving to you and reap its harvest, you shall bring the first sheaf [omer] of your harvest to the priest. He shall elevate the sheaf before the Lord for acceptance in your behalf; the priest shall elevate it on the day after the sabbath. On the day that you elevate the sheaf, you shall offer as a burnt offering to the Lord a lamb of the first year without blemish (Leviticus 23:10–12). As noted by Jacob Shalom Licht, every agriculture-based culture has rites and customs celebrating the grain and grape harvests; and as Shmuel Ahituv suggests, rites such as the Omer—a sacrifice of grain at the beginning of the harvest—symbolize man’s joy in many cultures in a successful growing season and harvest, as well as gratitude to the Deity/gods for the new harvest. Moreover, Ahituv points out that scholars have not yet discovered a custom identical in its details to the Israeli Omer.156 Despite the long period of exile from the Land of Israel, the Sages saw the Omer, detailed in Leviticus 23:10–14, as expressing the people’s connection to our promised land. Although this connection was, in current terms, virtual, it was a palpable presence throughout the centuries. In the words of Rabbi Yohanan, a Sage of the Mishnah period: “Never play down the significance of the mitzva of bringing the Omer to the priests in the Temple. It is via this mitzva that the patriarch Abraham inherited the land of Canaan.”157 The Omer ceremony is, of course, especially meaningful to kibbutz communities, reflecting as it does the importance of working the land, which was and is a central aspect of the Zionist ethos. The Omer thus serves as an educational tool in connecting the celebrants to the Land. It is arguably even more important in the twenty-first century, when only a small percentage of the population—even in rural communities—in fact works at, and earns its living from agriculture. At this point I should like to detail the Omer ceremony as practiced for over eight decades in my kibbutz, Ein Hashofet, and in which my parents-

156 See Licht, Time and Holy Days, 154; Shmuel Ahituv, “Omer” [Hebrew], in Encyclopedia Biblica, vol. 6 ( Jerusalem: Keter, 1971), columns 300–302. 157 Vayikra raba, 28:4.

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in-law, my wife and myself, our children, and now our grandchildren, take part. This celebration is an excellent example of developments in our holidays which have taken place since our people’s return to our land. Although the kibbutz Omer is not religion-based, and thus does not include those elements of the biblical Temple sacrifices as detailed in Leviticus, the rejoicing at, and indeed gratitude for, a successful harvest, is central. The Omer ceremony is held every year. It begins just before sunset, a few hours prior to the Passover Seder, in a wheat field next to the kibbutz. The whole population of the kibbutz (as well as many guests who then stay for the Seder), is present, sitting on bales of straw. Only the six-year-old children are absent, hiding in the field among the grain stalks. The master-of-ceremonies opens with Exodus 34:18: “You shall observe the Feast of Unleavened Bread—eating unleavened bread for seven days, as I have commanded you—at the set time of the month of Abib [Nisan], for in the month of Abib you went forth from Egypt.” The latter is then followed by: “the poppies and chrysanthemums grow and flower in fields of grain during the spring, and surprise us every year anew. . . .” This is the signal for the children to appear suddenly from their hiding-place, holding wreaths of wild-flowers, and joining the crowd—while singing “The rain is over and past.” The rest of the celebration includes dancing and singing, including Mattityahu Shelem’s “The sun is coming,” whose source is the Mishnah:158 The reaper should be on his way—evening is falling. The sun has already set behind the hills. The sun must rise—it is the time of reaping, Will I reap? Yes! As is the case with the ceremony itself, Shelem’s lyrics exemplify the renewal and transformation, continuation and preservation, of which this book speaks.

b)  Changes in the Passover Haggadah At the Passover Seder we read the Haggadah. The latter text is the result of a process of composition and redaction which continued for centuries. This process began during the period of the Hashmoneans and lasted until the

158 Mishnah Menachot 10:3.

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development of print (moveable type) in the fifteenth century. Every generation saw additions. As Shmuel and Ze’ev Safrai note: The Haggadah was not formed all at once. It was begun by the “Yavneh generation” in the first century CE; its current form was fixed during the period of the Ga’onim (6–11 centuries CE). The final passages were added in medieval Europe. [. . .]. During the period of the Ga’onim (6–11 centuries CE) and Rishonim (11–15 centuries CE) a number of passages were added, which reflect the Jewish world at the time. These include: Ha lahma— a verse inviting the needy to the feast; and shpoch hamatcha— a prayer expressing the suffering of the persecuted Jewish people. In general, many basic themes of Jewish life underlie the Haggadah as it accompanies the Seder feast. These foundationstones reflect the multi-faceted Jewish world.159 The additions and redaction of the Haggadah are excellent examples of revisions and developments in the Jewish holidays throughout the generations. I find it unfortunate that previous and current generations have not continued this “tradition” of making changes in this central text in order to reflect the changing times. Are we—for some reason—afraid to give expression to the multi-faceted nature of Jewish life as we perceive it?

c)  When and why was the saying “Pour out Your fury upon the nations” added to the Haggadah? We now take a detailed look at the saying “Pour out Your fury upon the nations” (Psalm 79:6, Jeremiah 10:25) as an example of past and present changes in the Haggadah. The following is recited at the Seder, after the third cup of wine is imbibed: Pour out Your fury on the nations that do not know You, upon the kingdoms that do not invoke Your name, for they have devoured Jacob and desolated his home [Psalms 79: 6–7].

159 Shmuel and Ze’ev Safrai, The Passover Haggadah: the Sages’ Haggadah [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Carta, 1998), back cover, 8–9.

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Pour out Your wrath on them; may Your blazing anger overtake them [Psalm 69:25]. Oh, pursue them in wrath and destroy them from under the heavens of the Lord! [Lamentations 3:66]. The above—and especially the passage “pursue them in wrath and destroy them” – awakens a sense of discomfort which has only increased ever since the Holocaust, in which the Nazis and their henchmen did everything in their power to destroy our people. We should, however, understand this passage in historical context: the time and place in which it was added to the Haggadah. “Pour out Your wrath” in the context of the Haggadah appears as part of the custom of pouring a special cup of wine intended for the prophet Elijah. The door of the house is opened and “Pour out Your wrath” is spoken. According to Shmuel and Ze’ev Safrai, there is no sign of “Pour out Your wrath” in talmudic writings or in writings of the Ga’onim: In early piyutim [ Jewish liturgical poems, usually sung, chanted or recited during religious services] we have not found a plea for revenge against those nations which persecute the Jews. Only since the Byzantine period (395–1453 CE) are there piyutim which call for vengeance. Our people’s suffering at the hands of other nations has been expressed in the literature of the Halakha and Midrash. This central part of the Jewish experience should find expression in the Haggadah as well.160 Vis-à-vis the historical context, the scholarly consensus is that this problematic cry, expressing as it does a call for divine revenge and destruction, even to the point of genocide, was added to the Haggadah following the First Crusade, which began in 1096 CE. During and following this period the infamous blood libel was spread, according to which—prior to Passover—Jewish communities throughout Europe were accused of murdering a Christian child and using his blood to bake matzot; the latter served as the “excuse” for widespread massacres. The period of these massacres in Europe lasted for over 300 years.161

160 Ibid., 174–176. 161 See Phyllis Goldstein, A Convenient Hatred: The History of Antisemitism (Brookline: Facing History and Ourselves Foundation, 2011), 83.

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According to scholars such as Zisser and Lieberman, despite the call of many “progressive” Jews for the excision of this passage from the Haggadah, after the horrors of the Holocaust the passage has for the most part not been removed.162 Today however, many of us remain uncomfortable with “pursue them in wrath and destroy them from under the heavens,” which can be seen as essentially a call to commit genocide on the descendants of the people who in the past were our enemies. As a parent and educator, I certainly believe that from an ethical-educational point of view this cry for vengeance and genocide bears a negative character. For this reason I am glad that this passage has been removed from the Kibbutz Haggadah. Just as it was the right of the Jews of Europe to add a passage as a response to their centuries-long suffering (after 1096 CE), it is now our right, and even obligation, to remove passages such as this, which no longer seem to us to “belong.” The Kibbutz Haggadah is another example of how the Haggadah specifically, and our holidays generally, can be made more relevant to us and our younger generations. I should like to close this discussion of the Haggadah with a reference to the custom of reading the Song of Songs on Passover. In Ashkenazi communities the Song is customarily read on the first night of Passover, at the end of the Seder; in the Diaspora, where the Seder is repeated on the second night of the holiday, the reading of the Song is often spread over the two nights. In synagogues in Ashkenazi communities the Song is read publicly on Shabbat Hol Hamo’ed, before the reading of the Torah. The various themes of the Song are clearly pertinent to the holiday: a celebration of springtime, of renewal, and redemption. The Song of Songs, is one of the great works of biblical poetry, as well as of world literature generally.163

162 Zisser and Lieberman, To Choose Life, 61. In the framework of this discussion of changes in the way we relate to our holidays I should like to call attention to Zvia Valden’s discussion of the Song. This essay is a personal retrospective, reflecting a process of personal change and development similar to that detailed in my discussion of changes in how many nativeborn Israelis relate to the zealous heroism of the Hashmoneans vis-à-vis Hannukah. Valden details personal changes in her view of the Song in the light of changes which she has in common with many of her fellow sabras. In this excellent essay she points out ways in which revisions in our views of the holidays result from changes in our personal, individual lives. Prof. Tzvia Valden is the daughter of the late Shimon Peres, former President and Prime Minister of Israel. See: Tzvia Valden, “A journey of identity reading the ‘Song of Songs’”, edited by Itamar Kislev, Sagit Mor and Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg, Moed Annual for Jewish Culture Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture Studies, 2016, 136–169. 163 Changes in the Yizkor prayer are noted in footnote 82.

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7)  Changes in Celebration of Shavu’ot The Festival of Shavu’ot has many names.164 Is there a connection between this multiplicity of names and changes which have taken place in the holiday? Amira Meir suggests that the multiplicity of names for the holiday points to the revisions and developments through which Shavu’ot has passed throughout the centuries. The identification of the day with the giving of the Torah reflects the change from an earlier stage, in which Shavu’ot was an agricultural holiday.165 The following names appear in the Bible: Shavu’ot: the Feast of Weeks (Exodus 34:22; Deuteronomy 16:10, 16); the Feast of the Harvest (Exodus 23:16); The Festival of the First Fruits (Numbers 28:26); the Day of the Assembly (Deuteronomy 9:10). For our purpose it is important to note that the name “Festival of the Giving of the Torah” does not appear in the Bible. Jacob Shalom Licht has noted that the first appearance of “Feast of the Giving of the Torah” is in the Book of Jubilees; the latter is not part of the canonical Tanakh. Among Jews, it is accepted as canonical only by Beta Yisrael—Ethiopian Jewry. According to Licht: The Book of Jubilees contains the earliest evidence of the belief that the Torah was given on the holiday of Shavu’ot [. . .] The Sages accepted that Shavu’ot was the time of the giving of the Torah. It is perhaps best to say that Shavu’ot received its meaning as hag matan torah as a result of the consolidation of Judaism and its focus on historical national consciousness. It seems that this consolidation began during the days of the First Temple and ended at the beginning of the Second Temple period.166 Eliezer Schweid believes that the change in name and meaning of the holiday to Feast of the Giving of the Torah resulted from the destruction of the Second Temple: there were no more pilgrimages to the Temple; exile uprooted Jews

164 See Uzi Lushi, “Shavu’ot—Seven Names” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: Shavu’ot, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009), 3. The seven names are: Fiftieth Day, Feast of the Harvest, Giving of the Torah, Atzeret, First Fruits, Feast of Weeks, Day of the Assembly. 165 Amira Meir, “Shavuot as the feast of the Giving of the Torah: Really?” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: Shavu’ot, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009), 40-41. 166 Licht, Time and Holy Days, 166–167.

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from their agricultural way of life. The spiritual basis of the holiday therefore became the celebration of the reception of the Law.167 To conclude this discussion of Shavu’ot—just as the Sages were wise and daring enough to change the name and focus of Shavu’ot after the destruction of the Temple and subsequent Exile, today we should expect our current spiritual leaders to dare to change holiday customs in accordance with our return to the Land and establishment of a sovereign Jewish state. The aim of this chapter—in which we have seen examples of changes in holiday observances throughout the generations—is to encourage us to follow them. We should choose changes which make our holidays more relevant to current reality. This approach will raise the sense of identity and belonging to Judaism on the part of our children.

8)  In Conclusion: Is There a Contradiction between Tradition and Change? My grandmother did not have a bat mitzva. At the age of twelve she was married. [. . .] It would never have occurred to my mother, for example, to marry at age twelve, [. . .] but neither did she celebrate a bat mitzva. The girls in my class in elementary school had a bat mitzva, but for the most part this was an event held for all the twelve-year-old girls in the class. Occasionally a girl was daring enough to stand up by herself before an audience and give a drasha [a lecture about a weekly Torah portion]. Quite a few eyebrows were raised . . .(Jack Levi)168

The aim of this chapter is to exemplify the centuries-long process of revisions and developments in the way we celebrate specific holidays, as well as in our attitude toward the content of the holiday. These changes occur at various times and places, and serve to maintain each holiday as a relevant tool for expressing the beliefs and ideas of the celebrants. It is important to focus on the legitimacy of these revisions—both those made in the past, those which are currently developing, and those which will

167 Schweid, The Jewish Experience of Time, 249. 168 Jacky Levi, “A Story from the Haftorah” [Hebrew], Israel Today, March 3, 2017.

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continue to develop in future generations. Although it may not appear so at first, changes in the holidays are educational tools for preserving the holidays. As we have seen in our discussion of the Omer, changes in a celebration can serve the purpose of preservation; in this case we see how the modern Zionist settlement of the Land renewed and refreshed a custom whose sources were the Torah and Mishnah. I should like to point out that change per se is not a goal. On the contrary, its aim is to preserve the relevancy of the holidays in every generation. Therefore, we should not assume that every change is of necessity desirable, positive. In our times many holidays have become commercial tools; between the latter and the content of the holiday—as well as its educational value—there is no connection. As parents and grandparents, we are all aware of the anti-educational situation in which Hanukkah, for example, becomes an excuse for “encouraging” us to compete as to who buys the most expensive presents.169 In answer to the question of the connection between change and preservation, we cannot do better than heed Meir Buzaglo: The “traditional” person sees himself as loyal to his parents’ world. Not everything is open to criticism, and he does not begin with a blank slate on which he creates himself. The “traditional” person sees himself as devoted to the world of his parents and teachers, from which he receives [his values], which he then transmits to his family and pupils [. . .]. But in fact, there is no contradiction between tradition and change; actually, the opposite is true. Tradition is the necessary condition for the possibility of change [. . .]. Modern life presents the “traditional” person with challenges which his forefathers did not face.170 We can agree that the way in which one chooses to remember and transmit the content of our holidays expresses a central dimension in his or her identity as a Jew. This dialogue between change and preservation is not intended to blur differences, nor to establish orders of preference. We are all good and worthy Jews.

169 The custom of showering children with presents on Hanukkah, which families of limited means cannot in fact afford, is one that we have probably adopted from the Christian custom of giving Christmas presents. Many Christian parents and educators have come to deplore the exaggerated commercialization of the central holiday of their faith. 170 Meir Buzaglo, “Educational Ideologies: a Mizrahi [Sepharadi] viewpoint,” in Junctions: Values and Education in Israeli Society ( Jerusalem: Ministry of Education, 2001), 480–521.

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Passover as a Reflection171 of the Jewish Holidays172

1)  The Educational Goal of the Command “And you shall tell your son” “And you shall tell your son” has been chosen as part of the title of this book because it expresses the book’s message of the contribution of the holidays in shaping our sense of identity and of belonging to a people, by reflecting the latter in an experiential format. Passover receives extensive treatment in this book because of its central place in the Jewish calendar and in the culture of the Jewish people. 173 The source of the expression “and you shall tell your son” is the story of the exodus from Egypt. The Passover holiday and Haggadah stand at the forefront of my intention of interweaving the personal with the national and collective. In his experimental teaching program Circles of Belonging Hartman suggests using the Haggadah as a tool for establishing memory: “In order to establish the memory of the exodus from Egypt the Sages composed the

171 On mise en abyme see Layer Dallenbach, The Mirror in the Text, trans. Jeremy Whiteley with Emma Hughes (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1989); See also Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg, Going up and Going Down: A Key to Interpreting Jacob’s Dream (Genesis 28:10–22) (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), 161–175. 172 Hizky Shoham writes: “In a broad-ranging survey made in 1970 and repeated in 1990, Passover is the only holiday—after Independence Day—with the lowest percentage of Israelis claiming that it has no significance for them—less than 15%. Some 96% of Israelis take part in a Seder of one sort or another.” Hizky Shoham, Let’s Celebrate! Festivals and Civic Culture in Israel [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Israel Democracy Institute, 2014), 27. 173 See Mechilta, Masechta d’Amalek, 81: “The exodus from Egypt is equal to all of the miracles and brave deeds done for Israel by the Master of the Universe.”

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Haggadah. The story of the exodus became an important element in the Jewish calendar, and the memory of this historical event continues to be transmitted from generation to generation.”174 The importance of transmitting the memory of the exodus is directly expressed in the Haggadah: “In every generation one must see himself as if he had departed from Egypt.” The latter is written in the singular. The responsibility of remembering, telling, and identifying with the generation of those who left Egypt applies to each of us individually. Our forefathers’ departure from Egypt was a constitutive experience for the Jewish people. Rabban Gamliel the Elder notes that the identification is not only with those who left Egypt and journeyed from slavery to freedom.175 In the words of Rabbi Menahem Hacohen: The Sages of Israel attached great importance to the command “And you shall tell your son.” They saw this command as not only providing an explanation of the commands pertaining to the holiday, but even more important, as an invaluable principle for strengthening the sons, generation after generation, by instilling the basic values of the Jewish people: the exodus to freedom and the beginning of the formation of the people on the basis of social and ethical values.176 Or in the words of Sarah Shoub: “The main idea is that each generation must ask itself: ‘What is my Egypt, in my own time and place, and what is the meaning of slavery and freedom here and now, in the present historical circumstances.’”177 The Jewish calendar is the backbone of our identity. The festival of Passover and the Haggadah—with the command “And you shall tell your son”—reflects the central message of all the Jewish holidays and of this book as a whole. As Rina Heblin has written: The exodus from Egypt with its three aspects—slavery, the exodus from slavery to freedom, and the centrality of the Deity in our redemption—is the most outstanding of historical memo-

174 See Hartman, Circles of Belonging, 55. 175 Mishnah Pessahim 10:5. 176 Menahem Hacohen, “The Passover Haggadah,” in Jewish Holidays’ Encyclopedia, ed. Yoel Rappel (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers 2004), 84. 177 Shoub, Beyond the Realm of the Profane, 76.

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ries in Jewish tradition. It is the constitutive experience of Jewish history. As such it is central to four holy days and festivals: the Sabbath, Passover, Shavu’ot and Sukkot.178 On the basis of Havlin’s explanation of the centrality of Passover and its text, I see Passover as “The Holiday.” Or in other words: Passover represents and functions as a mise en abyme of all the Jewish Holidays. Mise en abyme, a term taken from art, has been adopted into literature, including research on biblical literature. As a literary device, mise en abyme appears through the generations and across cultures. We have adopted it into the Jewish Holidays and we view the Passover as the Festival of Festivals In the Bible we have evidence of the view of Passover as the Festival of Festivals: “This month [Nisan, the month in which Passover takes place] shall mark for you the beginning of the months: it shall be the first of the months of the year for you” (Exodus 12:2). One of the main insights of this book is the awareness that the holidays influence and shape our identity as individuals and as a people. The command “and you shall tell your son” on Passover is part of the beginning of our path as a people: on Passover we celebrate, as it were, the birthday of the Jewish people; or in the words of the Haggadah: “Today you have become a people.” In Exodus 1:9 the collocation “the children of Israel”179 appears for the first time, and moreover in the words of Pharaoh to the Egyptian people. Pharaoh speaks of am bnei Yisrael, the Israelite people; as far as I know, this is the first time that “the children of Israel” are spoken of as a people, and by a foreign king!

a)  The educational contribution of Passover to the educational goal of the command “And you shall tell your son” Let me begin with a quote from Haim Guri, Israel Prize winner for poetry. On Passover 2014 Guri, who had served in the Palmach180 during the pre-State period, spoke about the Palmach’s Haggadah: “This was our Haggadah, our version of ‘And you shall tell your son.’ It was our duty to pass our story on to

178 Rina Heblin, Jewish-Israeli Times: The Jewish Holiday as a Key to Identity Discourse (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad 2009), 85. 179 In verse 1 the same collocation “the children of Israel” refers to the biological sons of Israel/ Jacob. 180 The Palmach was the military arm of the Hagana, the precursor of the Israel Defense Forces.

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future generations—the story of the Palmach.”181 The lesson which I take from Guri’s talk is that each of us has his or her own Haggadah, and when it comes to “telling one’s son,” more is better. Or, in other words, “the Haggadah is an attempt to shape the commandment ‘And you shall tell your son’ via ideological, educational means which express a discourse between parents and children.”182 The source of the collocation “And you shall tell your son” is the Bible: “And you shall explain to your son on that day, ‘It is because of what the Lord did for me when I went free from Egypt’” (Exodus 13:8). It is rather surprising to discover that this collocation, whose use is so widespread in Jewish culture, appears only once in the Bible, and its meaning is not clearly spelled out. What, exactly, should I tell my son? The reader may mistakenly interpret this as a call for the father to preach to his son, as in Proverbs 1:8: “My son, heed the discipline of your father, and do not forsake the instruction of your mother.” However, if we view the collocation in its immediate context, we see that the father is not preaching at the younger generation. This is not a one-directional speech—from father to son—but rather the father’s educational response to his son. The son opens the dialogue by asking a question, to which the father listens and responds: “And when, in time to come, your son asks you, saying, ‘What does this mean?’ you shall say to him, ‘It was with a mighty hand that the Lord brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage’” (Exodus 13:14).183 The sensitive reader of Exodus 13:8—“And you shall explain to your son on that day, ‘It is because of . . .”—will raise a number of questions that the verse does not answer. For example: what is the meaning of “on that day”? Does this collocation answer the question “When?” At first it may seem that “on that day” is an unnecessary, even clumsy, addition, and this in the framework of the Bible as a whole, which is noted for its laconic use of words. On the other hand, the biblical redactors made occasional use of defamiliarization, a literary device whose purpose is to call the reader’s attention to a point which he or she might otherwise have ignored.184 In this case the expression “on that day,” when seen in context, may be intended to call our attention to the word mahar—“tomorrow”—in 13:14: “And when, in time to come [or in other 181 Pessach Haggadah, The Kibbutz Haggadah ( Jerusalem: Hashomer hatza’ir, 1979). 182 Galpaz-Feller, Rediscovering the Holidays, 116. 183 For another example of such a dialogue see Deuteronomy 6:20–21. 184 This device—defamiliarization (hazarah)—is often found in biblical literature. Yairah Amit, in Revealed and Hidden in the Bible: Hidden Polemics in Biblical Narrative (Tel Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 2003), 105, writes about the use of linguistic devices to grasp the reader’s attention: These devices “remove readers from their routine, directing their attention to phenomena that interest the narrator, such as hidden polemic.”

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translations, tomorrow] your son asks you, saying, ‘What does this mean?’ . . .” The word mahar does not necessarily refer to “the very next day”; it can also indicate an indefinite time in the future. According to Mishael Caspi, the answer to the question “When?” is “when your son is ready and willing to hear.”185 The suggestion of “telling” your son only when he is “ready and willing” to hear is based on basic educational practice dating many centuries back, and still relevant. In his discussion of the difference between “And you shall tell your son” and “And you shall say to your son” Aryeh Ben Gurion186 points out that: In the format of the Haggadah the father or mother answers questions and explains the meaning of the holiday to their son or daughter. The child is the one who poses challenging questions, while the Haggadah provides the specific answers. In this context “to tell” means to repeat the same ideas over and over again, as opposed to “to say,” which is a one-time act. In other words, it is the child—according to his or her understanding, age, sensitivity, who determines the narrative level of the explanations which he receives at the Seder.187 Let us now return to mahar: “tomorrow” (Exodus 13:14). The lack of clarity which lends validity to Mishael Caspi’s suggestion enables the latter to be combined smoothly with the ambiguous educational approach of Proverbs 22:6. As I have noted, the Hebrew can be translated as “Train a lad in the way he ought to go”; or even better: “Train a lad in his way [al pi darkho—a way suitable to him].” It is, moreover, not necessary to see the ambiguity inherent in “And you shall tell your son” as negative. Indeed, this ambiguity enables a flexibility of interpretation which has maintained the relevance of this verse throughout the generations and from one place to another. The commandment “And you shall tell your son,” as we have already noted, forms the basis not only of the festival of Passover, but of all the Jewish holidays. The aim of this commandment depends on its definition; in other words, the intention of the commandment is broader than its literal words. The verb vehigadta—“and you shall tell”—refers not only to a father speaking to his son, but bears a metaphorical sense, according to which the father transmits a

185 From a conversation with the late Prof. Mishael Caspi. 186 David Ben Gurion—Israel’s first prime minister—was Aryeh Ben Gurion’s uncle. 187 Shittim, www.chagim.org.il.

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message to his son via various, experiential means: speaking, writing, poetry, melody, dance, pictures, symbols, all of which are applied to the Jewish holidays. Moreover, “And you shall tell your son” applies not only to a father or mother, to a biological son or daughter. Both father and son may be interpreted broadly; son may be seen as a daughter, a grandchild. The commandment also applies broadly to the question “What shall you tell?” We are talking about transmitting the cultural heritage of our forefathers from one generation to the next, in order to shape a sense of identity, as well as a sense of belonging to the Jewish people. The final aim is that each generation internalize this message. To sum up, the commandment “And you shall tell your son” must bridge the gap between what is known and obvious to the older generation, and what is not obvious to the younger generation. The parents’ knowledge and understanding of their heritage does not pass on automatically to their children. The Jewish calendar and holidays fill this gap. The first mishnah in Pirkei avot describes the chain of transmission of the Torah from one generation to the next: “Moses received the Torah at Sinai, and transmitted it to Joshua, and Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets, and the prophets to the Great Knesset.” One of the central events of biblical Jewish history is the entrance of the people into the Promised Land, effected by crossing the Jordan River. In our time, the period of the modern Return to Zion, we do not have a holiday dedicated to this constitutive event. Micha Goodman notes that despite Joshua’s attempt to erect a monument of twelve stones in honor of the crossing of the Jordan, the Jewish calendar—surprisingly—does not contain a day memorializing the entry of the Jewish people into the Promised Land under Joshua’s leadership.188 Joshua charged the Israelites as follows: “In time to come, when your children ask their fathers, ‘What is the meaning of those stones?’ tell your children: ‘Here the Israelites crossed the Jordan on dry land.’ For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan before you until you crossed, just as the Lord your God did to the Sea of Reeds, which He dried up before us until we crossed.” ( Joshua 4:21–23)

188 Micha Goodman, Moses’s Final Oration [Hebrew] (Or Yehuda: Kinneret Zmora Dvir, 2014), 150.

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The holidays—like the stones which Joshua set up—function as signposts marking out our common past.

b)  “And you shall tell your son” as part of a three-stage educational process A people that does not know its past has a poor present and a dim future (Igal Alon)189

The commandment “And you shall tell your son” is the third stage in building and shaping identity and belonging. The aim of this stage is the experiential internalization of identity and the sense of belonging to a people via the holidays: 1) The first stage is knowledge: “Know from where you come.” Knowledge is acquired by learning the stories of our people’s past and the customs of the holidays, which developed throughout the generations. Thus, knowledge is the first aim: you must tell your son in order for him to know. This stage is mentioned in the Bible, in God’s words to Moses on the festival of Sukkot: Gather the people—men, women, children, and the strangers in your communities—that they may hear and so learn [my emphasis—I. P.] to revere the Lord your God and to observe faithfully every word of this Teaching. Their children, too, who have not had the experience, shall hear and learn to revere the Lord your God as long as they live in the land that you are about to cross the Jordan to possess (Deuteronomy 31:12–13). Moses is commanded to speak the above to the people on their entrance to the Land. It is significant that the younger generation, the “children,” are not expected to know automatically what their parents know.190 The holidays—and especially Passover—remind us of past events in a celebratory, experiential way: in order to remember our past, we must know what it was!

189 Igal Alon, Curtain of Sand, Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1959. 190 In the above passage the children must be taught the words of the Torah—but in this book I broaden the limits of this knowledge to include our cultural and historical identity.

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2) The second stage is memory and identification.191 The individual should personally identify with our forefathers: “In every generation each person must see himself as if he had left Egypt.” In other words, the individual must feel empathy for the narrative of our people’s past. This empathy should, of course, be accompanied by a critical view of the forefathers’ deeds when the latter do not express the values of our morality; empathy and criticism are not opposites. At this stage we expect to remember the past—to know what happened—and identify with it. As a Jew I need to feel that my people’s past is mine. 3) The third stage is that of transmission of knowledge: “And you shall tell your son.” It is not enough to feel individual, personal identification and belonging. We have the responsibility of transmitting this knowledge, and our attitude towards the various deeds and events, to others. At this stage, the stage of application, each of us is expected to pass on his or her sense of identity and belonging to our children. At this point the knowledge receives its full meaning and power. In Hebrew we say that it is not enough to remember the past: we must cause others to remember. The holidays are, as we have already noted, a means of “telling our sons” via experience. Each person who hears and receives the command to tell one’s children is an additional link in the chain of receiving and transmitting. In My Lotus Flower, a children’s book, I tell the story of a father and son who pose questions which are answered by a magic lotus flower.192 Towards the end of the story the father listens to his son, and even asks the son questions. In this I point out the importance of “telling” and “listening” to one’s son. The two should be balanced, in the spirit of Proverbs 22:6: “Train a lad in his way.” The command “to tell” should begin with “And you shall listen to your son.” “Telling one’s son,” after all, is not done by lecturing and preaching, but rather by experiential, even sensory means: ceremonies, rites, flavors, songs, dance, games, which make the symbols of each holiday accessible and even pleasant. In the case of Passover, we hope that the celebrants, both adults and children, will indeed feel that they themselves have taken part in the Exodus from Egypt. This sense of belonging—part of the central meaning of the holiday—should grant a deeper meaning to their lives.

191 See Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory, 2nd ed. (New York: Shocken, 1989), 66. 192 Itzik Peleg, My Lotus Flower [Hebrew] (Kibbutz Dalia, Ma’arechet Publishing, 1990).

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Eliezer Schweid discusses the way in which a common identity is created by the Jewish calendar: The Jewish calendar is not only the embodiment of the Jewish life cycle, but it absorbs, as it were, the impressions of events in the life of the people. From the creative materials of each new hour in the people’s history it creates and recreates a memorial, a remembrance [. . .], through which the long road which the people has travelled is experienced: each of us feels as though he himself left Egypt, stood at the foot of Mount Sinai, wandered in the desert, settled the Land, established a kingdom, built the Temple. And as if he witnessed the destruction of the Temple, was exiled from his land, and returned to re-establish his people’s freedom [my emphasis—I. P.].193 This short survey of the three stages of the process of “telling one’s son” (knowledge, identity, transmission) is intended to place the third stage—on which this book centers—in context. The stage of transmission combines “preserving” tradition with “renewing” tradition.

c)  The Passover sacrifice (korban Pessach) and the double meaning of korban in Hebrew194 During the biblical period Passover was one of three pilgrimages; it centered on the Passover sacrifice.195 During the Second Temple period: Many thousands, from the Land and from the diaspora went up to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover in the Temple. These thou-

193 I should like to point out that the last sentence expresses the balance between memory that makes us sad and memory that inspires. Schweid, The Jewish Experience of Time, 27. 194 Yael Feldman points out the double meaning of korban in Hebrew: “it is necessary to differentiate between victim (a passive actor) and sacrifice (an active actor). The latter chooses to sacrifice him- or herself for the sake of his beliefs.” See “Who is This Sacrifice/Victim? The Rise and Fall of Abraham the ‘Sacrificer’ during the 1950s,” Mican 9 (2008): 125–157. 195 See Exodus 12: 8, 27. “They shall eat the flesh that same night: they shall eat it roasted over the fire, with unleavened bread and with bitter herbs. [. . .] You shall say, ‘it is the passover sacrifice to the Lord, because He passed over the homes of the Israelites in Egypt when He smote the Egyptians, but saved our houses.’”

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sands, however, were a small percentage of the people. The pilgrims brought the sacrifice to wherever they were staying, after the animal had been slaughtered in the Temple, ate the meat together with their families, shouted God’s praise [. . .], but there is no evidence of studying the story of the exodus from Egypt or of the existence of the Haggadah.196 After the destruction of the Temple the sacrifice of animals by the priesthood was replaced by the synagogue, with its prayers and written texts— in this case, the Haggadah. The Haggadah thus became the expression of “And you shall tell your son” the history of our people. As explicated by Sagit Mor: During the periods when the Temple existed, Passover Eve was celebrated by the pilgrims to Jerusalem: The sacrificial lambs were slaughtered in the Temple courtyard during the day, and eaten together at night. The celebrants gathered on the roofs and in courtyards, sang and told the story of the people’s redemption from Egypt. The destruction of the [Second] Temple posed two challenging questions: Is it allowed, and even possible, to make sacrifices outside of the Temple? If not, what will be the central observance of the festival? Moreover, how can we celebrate redemption during a period of destruction and exile? Two overall approaches were taken by Jewish leaders at the time: The first aimed to re-create the experience of pilgrimage (Pessahim 53, 71). Since Temple sacrifices could not take place in fact, Passover Eve was devoted [under the leadership of Rabban Gamaliel] to studying the halakhot of ritual slaughter and sacrifice. In this way the leaders tried to transmit to the people the correct way to celebrate the Passover in their current reality. This approach, however, was eventually rejected. Instead we find in the Haggadah a depiction of another group: “the story of Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah and Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarfon, who gathered in Bnei Brak and spent the whole night seated around the table, telling of 196 Safrai and Safrai, Passover Haggadah, 18. See also ibid., 48: “The destruction of the Second Temple brought with it the collapse of many aspects of the religious and cultural experience of the Jewish people. Even the observance of Passover and the memory of the exodus from Egypt changed greatly.”

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the exodus from Egypt. [. . .] These two approaches differ as to the “correct way” to cope with the trauma of the destruction of the Temple, the way of interpreting current reality, and as to various ways of ensuring the future of the Jewish people.197 In the light of the responsible, even courageous behavior of the spiritual leaders during the post-Second Temple period, I believe we should be asking where our spiritual and cultural leadership is now, in the period after the establishment of the State of Israel. Why do not more of our current leaders follow the Sages’ example and act boldly? The festival of Passover and its Haggadah can serve as an example—for all of the Jewish holidays—of the possibility and necessity of change. In this case we are talking about changes which will preserve the relevance of the holidays. With the destruction of the Second Temple (70 CE) the practice of the Passover sacrifice of course ended. We have seen that a basic change in the people’s situation—the destruction of the Temple and subsequent two millennia of exile—led to changes in the observance of holidays. Simultaneously our forefathers who were living in exile developed a view of themselves as victims, resulting from the hardships of Jewish life in the various diasporas. It is my view that we should now aim to free ourselves from the view of the Jewish people as eternal victims. The feeling of victimization was understandable when the Jewish people lived as persecuted minorities, without their own sovereignty, dependent on the good-will of the rulers of the majority people or ethnic group. Today, when we have our own sovereign nation-state, this sense of being victims is no longer relevant. It is vastly preferable for an individual and a people to see itself as responsible to and sovereign of its own fate, rather than yielding to a self-concept of being permanently victimized. In other words, we have not yet put aside the approach in which we see the Jew as the miserable victim of age-long persecution. It is about time that we approach our lives as Jews from the standpoint of sovereignty, and that this approach be reflected in our culture—including in our holidays. We should be relieved, in any case, that the age of the Passover sacrifice is over. Sacrifice of animals is problematic, at least in part because of the concomitant suffering of the animal. There are, however, Jews who dream of building the Third Temple and renewing animal sacrifice, and who are even

197 Sagit Mor, “How Can Redemption be Celebrated in a Period of Destruction and Exile? On Creation and Silencing in the Passover Haggadah,” in Alei Mo‘ed: Passover, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2008), 59–61.

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attempting to create the necessary physical conditions as mandated in the Pentateuch. Such a dream, however, goes against the words of the classical biblical prophets. At this point I should like to share the following exchange of letters as to the renewal of Temple sacrifices. In April 2004 (when I was teaching Bible studies in a teachers’ training college) Rabbi Mordechai (Moti) Elon sent to all public (non-religious) schools a communique dealing with the weekly Torah portion; its distribution was funded by the Ministry of Education. In the Rabbi’s words: The book of Leviticus, which we read this coming Saturday [part of the weekly Torah portion], is a book of sacrifices. It is unfortunate that in the course of the years since the destruction of the Temple, our religious and national consciousness has been distanced from the practice of sacrifices, and even from an understanding of the practice. But this practice was, and with the help of God will yet be, numbered among the most central of our Temple observances.198 Elon continues, moreover: “Let us hope that innocent children will be involved with purity and with sacredness.” A few days later I wrote to Limor Livnat, then Minister of Education: Who are these “innocent children,” if not our pupils, for whom Elon’s communique is intended? Do their parents, many of whom are not orthodox Jews, know that their “innocent children” are receiving this message at school? Is this the educational message which our children should be receiving in their public (non-Orthodox) schools? As a teacher who teaches and loves the Tanakh, I am proud to present in my lessons the ethical vision of the prophets, who express revulsion to the practice of animal sacrifice.199 My letter to the Minister also included the following words of Isaiah: “‘What need have I of all your sacrifices?’ Says the Lord, ‘I am sated with burnt offerings of rams, and suet of fatlings, and blood of bulls; And I have no delight in lambs

198 See R. Mordechai (Moti) Elon, Weekly Page, Parashat Hashavu Vayikra, April 26, 2004. 199 My letter to Limor Livnat, then Minister of Education, 26 March, 2004.

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and he-goats. That you come to appear before Me—who asked that of you?’” (Isaiah 1:11–12) In her response the minister expressed satisfaction with my intention of bringing our young people closer to the Bible, based on the importance of discovering and emphasizing the common denominator between those who are orthodoxly observant and those who are not (she moreover noted that Rabbi Elon’s communiques had been meant for distribution in public-religious schools, but were sent to non-religious schools by mistake). Let us now return to the question of our approach to the sense of victimization. It is not surprising that the Haggadah offers comfort: the various disasters mentioned in the text serve to emphasize the (Divine) redemption, which repeatedly saved our forefathers from their suffering. The “moral” of the text is that just as God saved our forefathers, so will he save us. On Passover we tell of release from dependence and slavery, which is of course the opposite of victimization. It is not coincidental that the Haggadah concludes with “Our Pessach Seder has come to its appointed end.” Looking forward, we then rejoice in the possibility of being free in Zion: “Next year in the rebuilt Jerusalem!”

d)  The double meaning of the Hebrew term Pessach (Passover) We shall now look at an example of the festival of Passover as an educational tool, in this case one which represents and characterizes this book as a whole. The very name—Pessach—bears an educational element. The word pessach has two meanings: to skip over and to save.200 The first meaning is seen in Exodus 12:23: “For when the Lord goes through to smite the Egyptians, he will see the blood on the lintel and the two doorposts, and the Lord will pass over [i.e., will skip over] the door and not let the Destroyer enter and smite your home.” The second meaning of pessach—to save—is based on the context of the above a few lines later (Exodus 12:27): “He passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when He smote the Egyptians, but saved our houses. The people then bowed low in homage.”201 The verbs passed over and saved are parallel. Over and above the linguistic issue, the two meanings of pessach have educational importance. Understanding pessach as skipping over may awaken

200 See also Licht’s definition of pessach in Time and Holy Days, 137. 201 Note that in the JPS Hebrew-English of Exodus 12:23b: “and the LORD will pass over the door. . .” (Philadelphia: JPS, 2003, 137). See note c “or protect; cf. v. 11` note b”. It is suggested that protect is a possible alternative to pass over.

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negative associations, in which we rejoice that God slaughtered Egyptians, while sparing us. To understand pessach as saving us, on the other hand, focuses on us—on our redemption from slavery in Egypt. In other words, we rejoice that our forefathers were saved, but do not gloat over the deaths of others, even though they were our enemies.202 Regarding this point it will be appropriate to quote God’s words to the Ministering Angels after the Israelites crossed the Sea of Reeds (Exodus 14:19–31). In verse 27 we read: “but the Lord hurled the Egyptians into the sea.” According to Rabbi Shmuel ben Nachmani: “The Ministering Angels sought to sing the Song. Said the Holy One Blessed is He: “The works of My hands are drowning in the sea, and you are singing the Song?!” 203 Rabbi Shmuel ben Nachmani’s moral is clear, and should serve as an educational-ethical inspiration when taught in school, and in every Jewish home: we should see the holiday as a time of rejoicing over our redemption,204 rather than an opportunity for schadenfreude over the downfall of others. Or in the words of Proverbs 24:17: “If your enemy falls, do not exult; if he trips, let not your heart rejoice.”

e)  “And you shall tell your son” (vehigadeta lebincha) on Pessach according to “Teach your son according to his way” “Our ancient writings are concerned non-stop with two significant pairs: parent and child, teacher and pupil.”205 Their concern with these two pairs—parent and child, teacher and pupil—tells us much about the educational direction of our ancient writings. This discussion is based on the Bible’s educational messages: as I have already noted, the most important message of Passover is the command “And you

202 See the instructions to the Jews, which appear towards the end of the Book of Esther, in which the Jews are enabled to respond to attacks by defending themselves and their families, while simultaneously taking revenge. “The king has permitted the Jews of every city to assemble and fight for their lives; if any people or province attacks them, they may destroy, massacre, and exterminate its armed force together with women and children, and plunder their possessions [. . .] the Jews should be ready for that day to avenge themselves on their enemies” (Esther 8:11, 13). 203 Megilla 10:72, Sanhedrin 39:72. 204 Despite Shalom Aleichem’s well-known saying “It’s hard to be a Jew” (from his play of the same name), in this chapter 7 have focused on rejoicing over how the Israelites were spared. 205 Oz and Oz-Salzberger, Jews and Words, 20. I highly recommend this book in the original English: Amos Oz and Fania Oz-Salzberger, Jews and Words (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012).

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shall tell your son (vehigadeta lebincha).” This command, couched as it is in the singular, relates to each parent and to every one of the sons and daughters; the children should be taught according to Proverbs 22:6: “Teach your son according to his ways.” For every educator a central question is how to pass on the messages which we choose to transmit in such a way that they will be accepted and internalized. The command “And you shall tell your son” lies at the center of Passover, as it does in this book as a whole. Yet from the biblical context itself we are not sure exactly what we are to “tell” our son. However, on second thought there may be an advantage to this ambiguity, which endows the collocation “And you shall tell your son” with flexibility and therefore with relevance throughout the generations. Moreover, the command serves as an educational tool in the spirit of Proverbs 22:6, rather than, for example, Proverbs 13:24: “He who spares the rod hates his son.” In this book we define the command “And you shall tell your son,” broadly, both as to the definition of the “teller,” the educator, and as to the son. This command expresses an age-old heritage passed from the parents’ generation to the following generations: children and grandchildren. The educators are not only the biological father and mother, but include the whole of the parents’ generation. The “son” is also an inclusive term, applying to daughters, granddaughters, and following generations. The term “to tell,” moreover, is inclusive. “Telling” is not limited to formal verbal instruction, but includes a large variety of means of communication, using both verbal messages and other symbols: speaking, singing, playing music, pictures, costume, food, all of which form part of ceremonies. The various holidays and their observances thus appeal to all the senses: sight, sound, touch, taste, smell. The Haggadah’s command to “tell your son” is carried out via discourse. The latter is recognized as an influential educational tool. The Four Questions play a central educational role in the reading or enacting of the Haggadah at the Seder. The son asks: “How is this night different from all other nights?” The response is “And you shall tell your son.” The son and daughter (traditionally the youngest children present who are capable of reciting the formulaic text of the questions) play an active role in the dialogue which forms most of the Seder, as they do in the search for the afikoman, to which all the children look forward from the beginning of the evening. The adult who leads the Seder is instructed to explain to his son the reason for the Passover observances: “it is because of what the Lord did for me when I went free from Egypt” (Exodus 13:8). When the text raises the issue of how to respond to the son who does not participate in the discourse, “who does not

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know enough even to ask,” the answer is “You [the parent] shall ‘open him up.’” In other words, the parent should initiate dialogue, encourage the youngster to ask questions, to participate. The educational approach of the Haggadah is based on sensitivity, on openness to the child and his or her unique way of learning; the father should first listen respectfully to the child, and only then respond. This encourages the child not to be afraid to speak, to ask questions. Pnina Galpaz-Feller has discussed the Seder as an educational tool for strengthening Jewish identity: Many of the Jewish holidays are “in memory of the exodus from Egypt,” but the festival of Passover is the only one whose central commandment is to tell the story of the exodus. Some have argued that “pessach” is a combination of the words “peh” (mouth) and “sach” (speaks) or, in other words, “a mouth that speaks.” We are, after all, commanded to tell [haggadah]. In the Haggadah the description of the departure from Egypt is turned from an event which took place at the beginning of our history into the prototype of our people’s future redemption and to the subject of national identity.206 The educational aspect of Passover, and the Seder which is central to the holiday’s observance, has received much scholarly attention. Pnina Galpaz-Feller, for example, notes that: “The Seder is first and foremost an educational project meant to transmit our basic values to the next generation, and is especially aimed at young children. As our people’s central festival, the observances of the Holiday of Freedom are based on the sensual and intellectual experience of the participants. [. . .].” 207 Jacob S. Licht discusses the “sense of participation” which the Seder meal creates. This sense strengthens the participants’ feelings of identity and of belonging, both to their family and to their people, both “then and now”: when people take part in the Seder meal as a remembrance of the exodus from Egypt, “the Seder serves as a symbol and expression of the historical continuum and common fate of generations of the Jewish people.208

206 Galpaz-Feller, Rediscovering the Holidays, 113 (my emphasis—I. P.). 207 Ibid., 111 (my emphasis—I. P.). 208 Licht, Time and Holy Days, 139 (my emphasis—I. P.).

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Throughout the generations the Passover Seder has been a central family event, in which two or three generations sit around the Seder table and celebrate. The definition of “the family,” however, for the purpose of this holiday, is often flexible and more inclusive than the current definition of the nuclear [twogeneration] family. The dialogue between father and son is first and foremost a dialogue within the family. As Sarah Yefet suggests, the Passover Seder is unique in that it is an event taking place in every Jewish family, in which family members take part together: men and women, elders and children, sit together.209 There is no separate “women’s section”; members of various generations read the text together as part of an inter-generational educational dialogue. Having been a member of a kibbutz for most of my life, I should like to note that in almost all kibbutzim the Seder takes place in the kibbutz dining room, the physical and perhaps even emotional heart of the community. Family groups— joined by family, friends and other guests from outside of the kibbutz—sit together around beautifully decorated tables, surrounded by the symbols of the holiday. The kibbutz is seen by many of its members as an extended family; the dialogue, based on the Haggadah, is read aloud. There is usually a stage, on which songs and dances are performed by children and adults from the community; holiday songs are sung together by everyone present. In this case the “father” and “son” of “And you shall tell your son” are broadly defined. In recent years many kibbutz families have chosen to hold their own family Seder in the family apartment. Yet the “central” Seder in the kibbutz dining room is still very well-attended and highly meaningful to those who take part.210 The question of how, and with whom, we celebrate is educational at its foundation, and is an integral part of the content. What do we tell? In her approach to the holiday via senses, experience and education, Sagit Mor writes: The consciousness of the festival’s place as an educational factor which shapes the individual’s identity, has led to the creation of an evening filled with sensual symbols and exciting events. This variety of components is meant to awaken the interest of

209 See Sarah Yefet, “Educational Aspects of the Definition of Identity during the Second Temple Period,” in A Variety of Beliefs and Views in Jewish Culture, ed. Dror Kerem ( Jerusalem: Israel Ministry of Education and Culture, 1992), 46. 210 In Israel there is one Seder—unlike in the diaspora, where there are two s’darim, night after night. Jews living outside of Israel thus have the opportunity to have two evenings of celebration, with different guests and even different haggadot.

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young children, to encourage their curiosity and stimulate them to ask difficult questions (the “difficult questions”—kushiot in Hebrew—of the Haggadah focus on “How is this night different from all other nights?”) In response the adults retell the story of the exodus from Egypt over and over again. This retelling is combined with the eating of symbolic foods and singing (“We once were slaves, but now we are free,” for example, as well as other songs which express the content of the holiday).211 Yaakov Shalom Licht writes of the “feeling of community” created by the Seder. This feeling builds a sense of identity and shapes the participants’ sense of belonging to their family and their people both then and now. In Licht’s words, “the Seder in memory of the exodus from Egypt serves as a symbol and expression of the sense of historical continuity and common fate of generations of the people of Israel.”212 Israelis know that the feeling of community, of a common fate, grows during periods of war and terrorist attacks. I can only wish that this feeling, which strengthens our mutual identification and assistance, will accompany us during times of peace and quiet. Our holidays can repeatedly recharge the batteries, as it were, of our sense of belonging.

f)  What is educational in “This poor bread / bread of affliction” (halahma ania)? The ceremonial feast that is the Seder opens with a short text in Aramaic which is one of the best-known passages from the Haggadah: This is the bread of affliction, which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are needy come and celebrate the Passover. This year we are here. Next year we shall be in Israel. This year we are slaves. Next year we shall be free men. According to Safrai and Safrai:

211 Mor, “On Passover, Senses, Experience and Education,” 2 (my emphasis—I. P). 212 Licht, Time and Holy Days, 111 (my emphasis—I. P.)

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The opening of the Haggadah—halahma ania—does more than invite the needy to the festive meal. It has an educational aim and is meant to raise the congregation’s awareness of the need for charity. The community as a whole and the gabbai of the synagogue should see to the needs of the poor in advance of the holiday, so that nobody need partake of the Seder in someone else’s house. The basis of halahma ania lies in an early stage of the period of the Gaonim; Rabbi Mattitiah Gaon, who lived in the middle of the ninth century CE, speaks of this passage, and especially of “everyone who is in need or hungry may enter and eat,” as an ancient custom.213 Why is this passage written in Aramaic rather than in Hebrew? Aramaic was our ancestors’ spoken language during the period when the Haggadah was composed. “In the ‘rishonim’s books’214 it is emphasized that this passage must be translated into non-Hebrew languages [for the sake of Jews who were not fluent in Hebrew]”215 It was important to the composers that everybody be able to read and understand the text.216 Rabbi Israel Meir Lau, (Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1993 to 2003) writes: The opening of the Passover Haggadah is in Aramaic [. . .] Tradition is maintained by preserving the original language of the text, which in this case was the spoken language of the time. Note: during the period when the Haggadah was composed, the Jewish masses spoke Aramaic. The most common, popular folk customs—the importance of inviting the needy to share one’s Passover Seder, for example—were preserved in Aramaic. Another example is the Kaddish.217

213 Safrai and Safrai, Passover Haggadah, 111. 214 The term rishonim refers to rabbis of the period of the eleventh century through the fifteenth century CE. 215 Safrai and Safrai, Passover Haggadah, 112. 216 I find it somewhat ironic that nowadays Aramaic texts are retained (including, for example, the Orphan’s Kaddish), even though the large majority of Jews do not understand Aramaic. 217 See Haggadah, comm. Rabbi Israel M. Lau (Tel Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 2006), 18. In my opinion, regarding the question why this passage is written in Aramaic rather than in Hebrew, it is important to aim for a balance between preserving the old and creating the new.

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The passage halahma ania serves as another example of viewing the Haggadah and the festival as a whole, as educational tools. The Haggadah opens with: “This is the bread of affliction which our forefathers ate in Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat.” As Shoham notes, the emphasis is not on inviting one’s friends to the festive meal, but on inviting those members of the community who simply could not afford to buy the foodstuffs needed to prepare and celebrate the Seder meal.218 From an educational point of view, the younger generation present at the Seder is learning the importance of caring for the community’s weak and poor—and this at the very outset of the evening. We have, therefore, another example of the educational idea of talking to the “lad” in his own language (Proverbs 22:6), so that he may understand, and feel a sense of belonging. Is there a lesson for our time in all this? From the same starting-point—the importance of showing consideration for the participants—I suggest translating halahma ania into Hebrew, since the great majority of Jewish children (and many adults) do not understand Aramaic, and especially since the source of halahma ania is biblical Hebrew: “for seven days you shall eat unleavened bread—matzot—the bread of affliction/distress—lechem oni—for you departed from the land of Egypt hurriedly—so that you may remember the day of your departure from the land of Egypt as long as you live” (Deuteronomy 16:3). As a compromise between preservation and renewal I would suggest reading halahma ania in Aramaic and then in Hebrew for Israelis and in English for English speakers. Central to any discussion of lahma ania is the “bread,” lechem oni, the matza itself. Yair Zakovitch and Avigdor Shinan point out that there is more than one interpretation of the word ‘ani (as in lahma ania). This word has traditionally been understood to mean poor in the sense that the bread was kneaded and baked very quickly, due to the importance of leaving Egypt as speedily as possible. There is another possible interpretation, however: ‘ani can come from inui, which means suffering, affliction, even torture.219 And indeed the translators of the King James Version of the Bible (1611) render lehem ‘oni as “the bread of affliction” (Deuteronomy 16:3). Another issue connected with matza relates to those being addressed. As noted by Jonathan Safran Foer, when God commanded the people, he addressed

218 Shoham, Let’s Celebrate, 31. 219 See Yair Zakovitch and Avigdor Shinan, That’s Not What the Good Book Says (Tel Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 2004), 92. For why the ancient tradition preferred the explanation of ‘ani as referring to bread that was too quickly prepared, see ibid., 95.

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them in the plural: “This day shall be to you (plural) one of remembrance: you (plu.) shall celebrate it as a festival to the Lord throughout the [in Hebrew: your, plural] ages; you (plu.) shall celebrate it as an institution for all time” (Exodus 12:14). When Moses told the people to eat matzot he spoke to each person individually, in the singular: “You (singular) shall observe the Feast of Unleavened Bread—you (sing.) shall eat unleavened bread for seven days, as I have commanded you (sing.)—at the time of the month of Abib you (sing.) went forth from Egypt” (Exodus 34:18).220 In his discussion of matzot and halahma ania Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi writes: Every Seder constitutes a symbolic representation of an historic script—slavery, release, redemption—this is the basis of the Haggadah as it is read aloud. Not coincidentally, one of the first textual acts is the revelation of the matza to the assembled participants, together with the announcement “This is the bread of affliction which our forefathers ate in Egypt.” The text as it is recited and the act of uncovering the dish in which the matza rests are intended not only to stimulate the memory, but even more to mix past and present together. Remembering here is not only calling up memories of past days, which can involve a sense of distance, but is a kind of renewed realization.221 The text under discussion is short, compact and has three parts: This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are needy come and celebrate the Passover. This year we are here. Next year we shall be in Israel. This year we are slaves. Next year we shall be free men. Regarding the threefold structure of this text Foer notes: Halahma ania moves by quickly. It begins with a description of the matza, which did not have time to rise because of our

220 Nathan Englander and Jonathan Safran Foer, trans. and ed., New American Haggadah (New York: Little, Brown, and Company, 2012), 18. 221 Yerushalmi, Zakhor, 66.

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forefathers’ troubles; next there is an act of mercy and charity; and finally, a prophecy of our redemption. Past, present and future are represented in words which at first are elegiac, but end with hope—all of these are ultimate Jewish acts.”222 Thus, is expressed our people’s path, concluding with hope for the future. This is a worthy message for educating our children throughout the generations. The concept of the four sons is a generic term, referring to the younger generation, and to both males and females. We read in the Haggadah that “the Torah speaks of four sons: One is wise, one is evil, one is simple, and one doesn’t even know enough to ask.” The text then details what each son says or asks, as well as how the elder should respond. The story as told in the Haggadah is inspired by four texts from the Pentateuch, in which we are commanded to tell the story of the exodus from Egypt: The wise son—When, in time to come, your son asks you, “What mean the decrees, laws and rules that the Lord our God has enjoined upon you/us?” you shall say to your son, “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt and the Lord freed us from Egypt with a mighty hand (Deuteronomy 6:20–21). The evil son—And when your sons ask you, “What does this rite mean to you?” you shall say, “It is the passover sacrifice to the Lord because he passed over the houses of the Israelites . . .” (Exodus 12:26–27). The simple son [or the innocent son—tam, tmim in Hebrew]—And when, in time to come, your son asks you, saying, “What does this mean?” you shall say to him, “It was with a mighty hand that the Lord brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage” (Exodus 13:14). The son who does not know enough to ask—And you shall explain to your son on that day [Passover], “It is because of what the Lord did for me when I went free from Egypt” (Exodus 13:8). The biblical command “And you shall tell your son” relates directly to the son who does not know how to ask; it is relevant to all the sons and daughters,

222 Englander and Foer, New American Haggadah, 18.

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however, including the evil son. The latter’s “evilness” lies in his lack of a sense of belonging. 223 to his own people, as shown by his use of the second person: What does this rite mean to you? Yet there is curiosity and even interest in the question posed by the so-called evil sons. For us—the older generation of parents and teachers—the evil son belongs to us, is part of us, and we must answer, i.e., tell him. Each of the four should be answered in his unique way: “Teach a lad according to his way.” In Mishnah Pessahim we find “The father teaches the son according to the son’s way” (chap. 10). Rabbi Israel Meir Lau points out that “the Sages decided that according to the Torah each of the four sons should be responded to in the way which he deserves— Teach a lad according to his way’ (Proverbs 22:6). And each son has his own character, knowledge, ways of behaving.”224 The approach reflected herein—that the elders should listen carefully to each and every member of the younger generation—was also seen in our discussion of the Four Species of the festival of Sukkot. This strengthens our approach, which gladly receives diversity in our common identity. The Jewish holidays, in other words, can be celebrated in a variety of ways. Just as we accept all of our sons, with their great differences, we should accept the various religiouscultural directions among our people, whether orthodox, conservative, reform, or secular. In this way we create a sense of unity among our people, rather than an enforced uniformity.

g) “What is this?” an innocent question, or a stupid question? As part of our focus on the Jewish holidays’ educational message, we have chosen to examine the question of the ben hatam (the simple/innocent/foolish son). This son asks a short, generalized, vague question: “What is this?” It would seem that this son does not know how to pose a question, and that we can only understand what he intended to ask via the context and the answer (“It was with a mighty hand that the Lord brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage”—Exodus 13:14).

223 The goal of the command “And you shall tell your son (and daughter)” is to cope with the feeling of strangeness, and even alienation, of the evil son. This should be our aim not only during Passover, but all year round. I would suggest that a specific date in the Jewish calendar be assigned to encouraging the sense of belonging to our people. 224 Lau, Haggadah, 28.

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According to Rashi, “’What is this?’ is [the question of] a stupid little child who is not able to pose an in-depth question.” From an educational standpoint the phrase “a stupid question” is very problematical. Calling the child “stupid” is unworthy and disrespectful. Rashi, however, is not the first to call the child “stupid.” Indeed, he was preceded by the Jerusalem Talmud. Both Rashi and the Talmud interpret the word tam judgmentally, as stupid. In the Bible, however, the word is generally positive, used as the opposite of evil and as a synonym for honest. In Genesis 6:9 Noah is described as righteous and blameless [tam], while in Job 1:1 the hero is termed “blameless [tam] and upright,” and in 9:22 Job argues that the Deity “destroys the blameless [tam] and the guilty.” It is important for parents and educators to follow in the footsteps of the Bible and the Babylonian Talmud in viewing the ben tam as innocent/blameless instead of stupid. In this way we avoid using off-putting, judgmental terminology. This son’s question—“what is this?”—is short, too general, and unfocused. It admittedly sounds childish and unintelligent; but the question stems from a genuine wish to know—and any response which publicly shames the child by intimating that he is stupid will almost certainly prevent him or her from posing questions in the future. Such a response goes against the educational recommendation of the Sages to the older generation: “You shall open him up,” i.e., you shall encourage him to be more “open” and to ask questions. Let us note that in the Bible, which inspired both the wise son and the simple/innocent son, the former’s question is both broad and detailed (Deuteronomy 20-21), while the simple son’s question is short and vague (Exodus 13:14). In both cases the answer is appropriate to the question. Each son receives a reply in the spirit of “Teach a lad according to his way.” The vague question “What is this?” teaches us as parents and educators much about questions and answers in general.

h)  “And that which has sustained (v’hee sh’amdah) our forefathers and us” as a source of hope And that which hath sustained our forefathers and us is the knowledge that we have been threatened by more than one enemy, but in every generation, we are faced with annihilation, and the Holy One, blessed is His name, has delivered us from their hands. (From the Passover Haggadah)

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It may be claimed that “in every generation we are faced with annihilation” is a repetition of the victimization motif, which emphasizes the disastrous persecutions undergone by the Jewish people throughout the centuries: antisemitism has always been with us. Yet if we view this sentence in context, a more optimistic picture emerges. The sentence is framed, as it were, by its opening: “that which hath sustained our forefathers” and by its closing: the Holy one “has delivered us from their hands.” Although throughout the centuries our enemies have tried to destroy us, God has saved us. The lesson is clear. Just as the Deity has saved our people in the past (by bringing them out of Egypt, for example), He will preserve us nowadays, whether as individuals or as a people. In other words, the disasters memorialized in the Haggadah serve to give us hope that God will save us from the dangers which currently threaten us. This divine promise is expressed in the Haggadah: “Blessed is He who keeps His promise to Israel,” and as already noted, in God’s promise to Abraham in the “covenant among the fragments” (Genesis 15:13–14). Let us admit that the continuum of persecutions and disasters which have plagued our people—culminating in World War II and the Holocaust—may lead to the question: Where was our God when we needed Him? Indeed, as far back as the Bible we hear Gideon’s outcry to the angel of the Lord: Please, my lord, if the Lord is with us, why has all this befallen us? Where are all His wondrous deeds about which our fathers told us, saying, ‘Truly the Lord brought us up from Egypt’? Now the Lord has abandoned us and delivered us into the hands of Midian! ( Judges 6:13). The Haggadah, however, is posited on the belief in a God who saves our people from the hands of the gentiles; this belief can be a source of optimism. Among the best-known passages of the Haggadah, we find positive messages: “In every generation one must see himself as if he had departed from Egypt.” This passage ends with words of thanksgiving to the Deity who “brought us out from slavery to freedom, from sorrow to joy, and from mourning to holiday.” In both cases—the first: “And that which hath sustained our forefathers and us” and the second: “In every generation one must see himself . . .”—there is salvation and hope, whose source is the Deity. It is certainly legitimate to ask whether one should cleave to the approach according to which we seek for hope and salvation from God and eventually from His messiah (who unfortunately always delays his coming); but this leads us into the world of belief. Yet even if we do not identify with such belief, we should respect those who do.

Passover as a Reflection of the Jewish Holidays

i)  What is the purpose of the ten plagues of Egypt? Why is one not enough? The Haggadah includes a list of the ten plagues: blood, frogs, lice, beasts, plague, boils, hail, locusts, darkness, death of the firstborn. We learn that these plagues were visited upon the Egyptians because Pharaoh refused to free our forefathers from slavery and allow them to depart from Egypt. We admittedly are uncomfortable with the idea that Pharaoh’s repeated refusal to free the slaves was—as told in the biblical text—the direct result of God’s decision to show both the Egyptians and the Israelites His strength: I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, that I may multiply My signs and marvels in the land of Egypt. When Pharaoh does not heed you [Moses and Aaron], I will lay My hand upon Egypt and deliver My ranks, My people the Israelites, from the land of Egypt with extraordinary chastisements. And the Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord, when I stretch out My hand over Egypt and bring out the Israelites from their midst. (Exodus 7:3–5) We are then repeatedly told that “Pharaoh’s heart stiffened and he did not heed them, as the Lord had said” (Exodus 7:13ff.). The plagues, and the Egyptian people’s concomitant suffering, are caused, in other words, by the Deity. How can we deal with the moral image of God as herein depicted? My answer, as a parent and a teacher, is that we should not ignore the ethical dilemma inherent in God’s actions; the very fact of raising and discussing this issue is an educational act. Traditionally, when the list of the ten plagues is recited during the Seder, each celebrant dips a finger into her or his cup at the mention of each plague and sprinkles a drop or two of wine onto the table. Throughout the centuries many reasons have been offered for this custom, ranging from placating “evil spirits,” through celebrating revenge on our enemies, through imitating the Greek and Roman practice of pouring a libation of wine to the Deity as part of a symposium. The discomfort with the very idea of gloating over the downfall of our enemies has led to the suggestion that with each dipping into the cup, the amount of wine remaining in the cup is lessened, thus lessening the possibility of rejoicing at the Egyptians’ suffering.225

225 It is important to note that I do not suggest ignoring the tradition of recalling the ten plagues visited on Egypt. However, from an educational point of view we must be aware of the

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To sum up: For educational reasons it is important to raise and discuss the problematics of the story of the ten plagues. We cannot change the biblical text, but we can certainly change the way we relate to the story from an ethical standpoint. The selection of passages from the Haggadah that we have discussed bear moral values. We should educate the younger generation in the light of these values. The latter reflect the contribution of the holidays in general—and of Passover specifically—to shaping our identity.

2)  Historical Memory as Shaping Jewish Identity and Belonging: What Is the Difference between History and Historical Memory? In this chapter we differentiate between history and historical memory and focus on the cultural and educational value of historical memory. This discussion, in other words, is cultural rather than historical. Those who discuss Passover from an historical, rather than a religious or cultural viewpoint often devote much attention to the following question: Did the exodus from Egypt actually happen? Until now we have approached this holiday on the basis of the Bible and the Haggadah. At this point we raise the intriguing question of whether or not Moses was an historical figure. In other words, is the story of our forefathers’ exodus from slavery in Egypt an historical event? Yair Hoffman writes: The exodus from Egypt is nowhere documented in ancient Egyptian writings. The latter is a broad-based literature, including histories of kings and their wars; yet there is no mention of the exodus. According to the Hebrew Bible the exodus was not the flight of a few dozen, or even a few hundred slaves, but rather an organized emigration of 600,000 “men capable of fighting”— or of at least two million people, when women, children, and elderly men are included.226

ethical problematics involved. 226 Yair Hoffman, Aspects of Modern Biblical Criticism [Hebrew] (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers, 1997), 70.

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The lack of any documentation in Egyptian records of an event of such scope indeed raises the question of whether the exodus was an historical event. There are a number of possible reasons for the Egyptians’ ignoring of the exodus. Did they censor from their writings all mention of what for them was an embarrassing defeat (and which for us, the descendants of the victors, was a constitutive event)? Or perhaps they did not write of the departure of some two million slaves because it did not take place. If the exodus has no historical reality, was the story invented by the biblical writers? Moreover, are we lying to ourselves and to our children every year when we retell this story? Yet why would we be commanded to tell of an event that never happened? Perhaps it is a metaphor. On the other hand, why would a proud people choose to invent a history of subjugation and slavery? In the words of historian Michael Waltzer, “What really happened? We don’t know. We only have the story, which was written hundreds of years after the putative event. [. . .] The story is more important than the events, and the story becomes more and more important as we read and re-read it, quote from it in arguments, make it part of our folklore.”227 The historian’s emphasis on the word story is not coincidental. The choice of story does not lessen the importance of the exodus from Egypt.

a)  Was Moses an historical figure? The question of the historical reality of Moses and the exodus vis-à-vis the holiday of Passover applies to all of the Jewish holidays. Its emphasis in this chapter stems from our use of Passover as a reflection of the other Jewish holidays. Moses, the major figure in the story of the exodus, may or may not have been an historical figure. But while acknowledging the significance of this issue, I view the memory of the past from a cultural and educational stance. We are not discussing the history of these events, but rather the awareness and memory of our common past, which accompanies us as individuals and as a people. From this stems the question of what conclusions can be drawn from the stories of these events. Every year we recall past events in the celebration of holidays, in an experiential manner. I therefore suggest using the story of these events as an educational tool for shaping our Jewish identity and sense of belonging.

227 Michael Waltzer, The Exodus from Egypt as a Revolution [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Aliyat Hagag and Papyrus, 1993), 18, 21.

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Ahad Ha’am (Asher Ginsburg), a foremost pre-State Zionist thinker, discussed the historical image of Moses; his insights can assist us in facing the historical question posed by the lack of historical proof of the existence of Moses and the exodus. According to Yairah Amit: In his article “Moses” Ahad Ha’am distinguishes between historical truth and archaeological truth. Via the concept of archaeological truth, he relates to what we accept as a credible historical source for recreating the past; while the concept of historical truth pertains to the contribution of a particular writing to understanding the forces that shape history.228 In “Moses” Ahad Ha’am writes: No historical hero has been depicted in his spiritual image in the people’s imagination as totally different from what he was in reality. This imaginary depiction, which the people create according to their needs and spiritual leanings, constitutes the real hero. The influence of the depiction grows and grows, at times in the course of thousands of years. The original personage, on the other hand, in reality lived for a short time, during which the people did not necessarily perceive him as he was. [. . .] Even if we were able to show clearly that the man Moses never lived, or was unlike [what is written of him], this would not detract from the historical reality of Moses the ideal: not only he who walked before us for forty years in the Sinai desert, but he who has walked before us in every wilderness through which we have trekked, from Egypt until this day. 229 Concerning the criterion for historiographic writing, Yairah Amit notes that: “It is possible to determine that the only criterion for defining a text as historiography is the conscious wish of the writer to describe the past. The historical validity of the text, or its level of objectivity, do not determine its genre.”230 If researchers accept this approach to reading an historical document,

228 Yairah Amit, History and Ideology in the Bible [Hebrew] (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers, 1997), 89. 229 Ahad Ha’am, “Moses” [Hebrew], in his At the Crossroads, vol. 1 (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1981), 218–220. 230 Amit, History and Ideology, 10 (my emphasis—I. P.).

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it is even more applicable to reading a biblical text. The latter is not necessarily intended to tell us what happened, but rather to transmit messages, beliefs, values, to draw conclusions, to educate. As readers we are expected, first and foremost, to be open to the text—to be critical “listeners,” aware that this complex text was written a long time after the events which it purports to describe, and is invested with various elements, not all of which are historical. Therefore, whoever reads a biblical story, including that of the exodus from Egypt, would do well to focus more upon its message/s, and less on the question of whether the events really happened as described. This literary approach to the text does not lower its cultural and educational value or the importance which we attribute to it. I shall conclude this discussion with Yair Zakovitch’s words on the distinction between historical memory and history: The Bible is the source of our history, and forms the basis of the communal historical memory of our people (historical memory rather than history, since it does not matter, for example, whether or not the exodus from Egypt is an historical fact. It is enough that in our consciousness every generation sees itself as if it departed from Egypt, and the exodus is charged with ideas and symbols that are dear to the hearts of members of the community as a whole).231 Moreover, Zakovitch argues that: In one way or another, it is the words, the biblical text—and not the stones—which shape our identity. Even if it is proved to me via “signs and portents” that the events described in the Bible have no historical reality, this will not displace the foundations of my identity and historical memory, which are based upon the Bible.232

b)  On the power of historical memory It is told that Napoleon once entered a synagogue in the Jewish Quarter of Cairo and saw the Jews sitting on the ground and mourning. On asking the meaning

231 Yair Zakovitch, “Distance Needs Closeness” [Hebrew], in Bible and Education, ed. Shamai Gelander (Kiryat Tiv’on: Oranim, 1995), 8 (my emphasis—I. P.). 232 Idem, “Words, Stones, Memory, and Identity” [Hebrew], in The Controversy about the Historical Truth of the Bible, ed. Israel L. Levine and Amihai Mazar ( Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi and Dinur Center, 2001), 74.

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of this strange behavior, the Jews explained that the day was Tish’ah B’Av, the day when Jews mourn the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Napoleon was impressed, and stated that “a people who mourn an event which took place thousands of years ago will return to its land.” The power of national memory is exemplified by David Ben Gurion, leader of the Zionist movement. In 1947—during the Passover holiday—Ben Gurion spoke before the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine (UNSCOP) investigating the right of Israel to become an independent country. In his speech Ben Gurion recalled a shipload of immigrants from England on their way to settle a colony in what was to become the United States. In American culture the story of the voyage of H.M.S. Mayflower in 1620 became a symbol of pioneering and of the willingness to leave one’s home and make a new beginning. In Ben Gurion’s words: Some three hundred years ago H.M.S. Mayflower set sail for the New World; its passengers were immigrants from England to North America. This migration was a central event in the histories both of England and of America. But I am curious whether even one Englishman knows the exact date when the ship put out to sea. Indeed, how many Americans know the date? And how many know the number of passengers on the boat, and what food they took along for the voyage? Behold, over 3,300 years before the Mayflower set sail, the Jews departed from Egypt. Now every Jew in the world, even those in America and Soviet Russia, knows the exact date of the exodus—the fifteenth day of the Hebrew month of Nisan. And every Jew knows what food the people took with them: matzot. And to this day Jews all over the world eat matzot on the fifteenth of Nisan—in America, Russia, and other countries. On this day they tell of the exodus from Egypt and of the troubles which have plagued the Jews ever since the Exile. And on this day they recite two lines in Aramaic: “This year we are slaves. Next year we shall be free people.”233

233 Thanks to Wikipedia for this quote from Ben Gurion’s speech before the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine (UNSCOP) during Passover 1947.

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3)  The Exodus from Egypt with Its “Signs and Portents” as a Paradigm for All Generations When, in time to come, your children ask you [. . .] you shall say to your children, “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt and the Lord freed us with a mighty hand. The Lord wrought before our eyes marvelous and destructive signs and portents in Egypt against Pharaoh and all his household.” (Deuteronomy 6:20, 21–22)

The above verses from Deuteronomy tell of “marvelous and destructive signs and portents” with which God afflicted Egypt—in other words, the ten plagues. Let us note that the awareness of the exodus from Egypt as an exemplar of redemption and of freedom which dates back to the Bible, has continued to be relevant in our day, both on the personal and on the national level. In the Bible the exodus is presented as a wonder, a miracle. Thus, for example, it is written in Deuteronomy: “Should you say to yourselves, ‘These nations are more numerous than we; how can we dispossess them?’ You need have no fear of them. You have but to bear in mind what the Lord your God did to Pharaoh and all the Egyptians” (Deuteronomy 7:17–18).234 Even Joshua, prior to the parting of the waters of the Jordan, recalls to the children of Israel the parting of the Red Sea; the latter story contains an example to be followed: [ Joshua] charged the Israelites as follows: “In time to come, when your children ask their fathers, ‘What is the meaning of those stones?’ tell your children: ‘Here the Israelites crossed the Jordan on dry land.’ For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan before you until you crossed, just as the Lord your God did to the Sea of Reeds, which he dried up before us until we crossed” ( Joshua 4:21–23).235

234 See Yair Hoffman, “The Exodus from Egypt” [Hebrew], in Israel Bible Encyclopedia (Tel Aviv: Am Oved and Masada, 1988), 323. 235 I should like to suggest that currently—in the days of the modern Return to Zion—we are missing a holiday celebrating the entrance of the children of Israel into the Land. This event, constitutive as it is in the history and culture of the Jewish people, deserves a place of honor in our calendar. Micha Goodman claims that despite Joshua’s attempts to erect a stone

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I suggest drawing two conclusions from Joshua’s words: first, Joshua was aware of the importance of the command “And you shall tell your sons”; secondly, Joshua presents the miracle of the parting of the Jordan River as a sign and portent. An echo of the exodus—albeit a negative one—can be discerned in the words of Gideon the judge on being divinely appointed to a position of leadership: Gideon said to [the angel of the Lord], “Please, my lord, if the Lord is with us, why has all this befallen us? Where are all His wondrous deeds about which our fathers told us, saying, ‘Truly the Lord brought us up from Egypt’? Now the Lord has abandoned us and delivered us into the hands of Midian!” The Lord turned to him and said, “Go in this strength of yours and deliver Israel from the Midianites. I herewith make you My messenger” ( Judges 6:13–14). Gideon’s skeptical question— “Where are all His wondrous deeds about which our fathers told us?”—continues to resonate throughout the ages, reaching a climax of anger and desperation during and since the days of the Holocaust. From the prophetical books of the Bible down to our day, the story of the exodus from Egypt has resonated for the Jewish people. The prophet Jeremiah tells the exiles of his generation: Assuredly a time is coming—declares the Lord—when it shall no more be said, “As the Lord lives who brought the Israelites out of the land of Egypt,” but rather, “As the Lord lives who brought the Israelites out of the northland, and out of all the lands to which He had banished them.” For I will bring them back to their land, which I gave to their fathers” ( Jeremiah 16:14–15). In other words, the prophet’s contemporaries were encouraged by the belief that just as the Deity had brought their forefathers out of Egypt, so would He bring the Babylonian exiles back to the promised land.

monument in memory of this event, it is not part of our yearly cycle. See Goodman, Moses’s Final Oration, 150. I expand this question in the Afterword: Lessons from our journey through the Jewish calendar.

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The exodus from Egypt, as Yair Hoffman points out, is the most commonly mentioned historical event in the Hebrew Bible. In addition to the story itself in the Book of Exodus, it is referred to directly more than 120 times: “These numbers reflect the overwhelming importance of the event in the Bible. In most of the biblical writings the exodus is seen as the most important stage in the process of turning the sons of Jacob into a people.”236 Moreover, in Ezekiel 2, Isaiah 40–66, as well as in other places, the exodus is mentioned during the period of the Babylonian exile. “We see that there was a tendency to draw a parallel between the redemption from slavery in Egypt and the future redemption from subjection in Babylon (see also Jeremiah 23:8 and 31:31–32).”237 Wherever people are familiar with the Bible and suffer repression, the story of the exodus from Egypt has served as an inspiration. In his discussion of the exodus as a model and exemplar over the generations, Michael Waltzer notes that the story is a paradigm of revolutionary politics throughout the ages.238 In the prayers said during a public fast we find the following: He who responded to our Father Abraham on Mount Moriah, He shall respond to us and all of the holy communities And all those suffering remorse and distress [. . .] He who responded to our forefathers and Moses on the Sea of Reeds He will respond to us.239 In addition to the symbolism of the exodus from Egypt, Moses’s image served as an exemplar for other great figures in the Hebrew Bible: Joshua, Elijah, Jonah (as well as for the New Testament figure of Jesus Christ).240 Biblical figures, of course, have served as exemplars throughout the ages, up to and including our time. The pioneers who made aliya at the turn of the twentieth century saw Abraham as an example to be followed. As Moshe Dayan wrote: “I knew that the command ‘Go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you’ was meant not only for Abraham, but applied to my father and mother, and to Rachel [the poet] and Tanhum [the teacher], and

236 Hoffman, “The Exodus from Egypt,” 323. 237 Yair Hoffman, The World of the Bible: Jeremiah [Hebrew], ed. Menachem Haran (Tel Aviv: Davidson-Ittai, 1994), 28. 238 Waltzer, The Exodus from Egypt as a Revolution, 18. Regarding the Exodus from Egypt as as an exemplar of redemption, see Yerushalmi, Zakhor, 49. 239 Mishnah Ta’anit 2:4. 240 See Zakovitch and Shinan, That’s Not What the Good Book Says, 167–172.

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that this command had brought them to Kibbutz Degania” [the first kibbutz settlement in Ottoman Palestine].241

a)  What is the difference between the exodus from Egypt and Abraham’s departure from Ur of the Chaldeans? We shall now compare two exoduses.242 The analogy between Abraham’s departure from Ur of the Chaldeans and that of the children of Israel from Egypt teaches us the following lesson: “the exodus from . . .” is seen as salvation. Just as God “brought out” Abraham from Ur so did He “bring out” the children of Israel from Egypt, and so will He save their descendants in the future. This is the message of “and you shall tell your son” in the Haggadah of Passover; it is a source of hope, especially during periods of painful, frustrating reality. Geographically, the land of Israel lies between Ur of the Chaldeans and Egypt. The story of Abraham begins with his departure from Ur (Genesis 11:31), in today’s Iraq, and concludes with his arrival in Canaan (the land of Israel). In the wake of an extended famine in Canaan Abraham departs for Egypt (Genesis 12:10), and subsequently returns to the Land (13:1). Abraham may thus be called “the first immigrant (oleh) and the first emigrant (yored).”243 The link of Israel to these two massive civilizations, both of which developed around great rivers, did not end at this point, but only began. The two exoduses have a common destination: the Land of Israel. Similarities in formulation of these departures encourage readers to draw comparisons and ponder the aim of the similarities:

241 Moshe Dayan, Living with the Bible: A Warrior’s Relationship with the Land of His Forebears [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Edanim, 1978), 29. 242 See Yitzhak (Itzik) Peleg, “Who Brought Abram out of Ur—God or Terah?” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo‘ed: Passover, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2008), 22–42; and idem, Go You Forth, the Journeys of the Patriarchs in the Biblical Narrative [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Resling, 2013), 185, note 68, and 218–223. 243 Until fairly recently, in modern Hebrew usage la’alot l’Israel—to immigrate/ascend to the Land—was seen as a praiseworthy act, while laredet miha’aretz—to emigrate/descend from the Land—was pejorative. See also Itzik Peleg, “Abraham as the First Zionist and the First to Leave the Land,” Al Haperek: Journal for Bible Teachers in Secular Schools (1998): 25–31; idem, Go You Forth, 169–214.

Passover as a Reflection of the Jewish Holidays

Exodus from Ur of the Chaldeans Genesis 15:7 I am the Lord Who brought you out From Ur of the Chaldeans To assign this land to you as a possession

Exodus from Egypt Leviticus 25:38 (also Exodus 20:2; Deuteronomy 5:6) I am the Lord your God Who brought you out Of the land of Egypt To give you the land of Canaan

According to Zakovitch and Shinan, the formulation “I am the Lord who brought you out” in the story of Abraham’s departure (Genesis 15:7) and especially the use of the verb y—tz—ah (brought out) intentionally predict the story of the children of Israel’s exodus (y—tz—ah) from Egypt. The aim of this linkage is to present the bringing out of Abraham as an act of Divine grace.244 Thus the purpose of the comparison is to give hope and encouragement: just as God brought Abraham out of Ur of the Chaldeans and Abraham’s descendants out of slavery in Egypt, so will He save His people from the Babylonian exile. In every generation, as we are told in the Haggadah, there is hope: “one must see oneself as if he himself departed from Egypt,” and although in every generation, oppressors arose in order to destroy us, “the Holy One, blessed is He, saved us.”

b)  Why must everyone, in every generation, see himself as if he departed from Egypt? The strongest expression of personal identification with the story of the exodus from Egypt appears in the Haggadah: “In every generation each person must see himself as if he himself has departed from Egypt. [. . .] It was not only our fathers whom the Holy One, blessed is He, redeemed, but we ourselves have been redeemed along with our forefathers.” Rabbi Israel Meir Lau argues that: This sentence, that every person must see himself as if he has departed from Egypt, of course connects with the words preceding it: “If the Holy One had not brought our forefathers out of Egypt, we, our children, and our children’s children would still

244 See Zakovitch and Shinan, That’s Not the Good Book Says, 129–137, for a discussion of the two exoduses.

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be enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt.” Thus, each of us, in very fact, must see him/herself tonight and every night, as if he—he personally—has been brought out from slavery to freedom.245 All future generations, in other words, identify with the Israelites who left Egypt; the message is that just as God saved them, so will He save us. According to Sarah Yefet: This identification has two aspects: the individual identifies with the community, and the one living currently identifies with past generations. At the center of today’s religious experience is the exodus from Egypt. [. . .] The exodus is a paradigm which proves the Deity’s power, His ability to stand up to other powers, His will and ability to aid His people. Therefore, the hope of redemption is not based on the fact that the Deity is omniscient and omnipotent, but—in paraphrase of the words of the Haggadah— “In every generation each one must see himself as if he will depart from Egypt.”246 Yefet herein suggests that the first event to be perceived according to this paradigm is the return to Zion after the Babylonian exile. In her words, “The need for continuity in religious belief mandates that the expectation for the future will be based on the past, and the future is assured by historical precedent.”247

c)  Must one lir’ot “see oneself,” or lehera’ot “show oneself ”? The power of identity, identification and the sense of belonging is made concrete when we distinguish between “to see oneself ” and “to show oneself.” In his discussion of leavening and matzot (chap. 7, halakha 6) the Rambam offers a different formulation: “In every generation one must show himself as someone who has just now departed from slavery in Egypt. As it is said, ‘and He freed us from there’” (Deuteronomy 6:23). In other words, according to the Rambam we must understand lir’ot et atzmo as “to show oneself ” rather than

245 Lau, Haggadah, 57. 246 Yefet, “Educational Aspects,” 47 (my emphasis—I. P.). 247 Ibid.

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“to see oneself.” Or as Shlomo Weissblit notes, “’to see oneself ’ is a subjective expression, while ‘to show oneself ’ additionally expresses a relationship to others.”248 I thus suggest that “to see oneself ” is the first stage on the road to belonging, identity and identification, while “to show oneself ” is the next stage. The latter includes the educational dimension of the command “And you shall tell your son.” Each verb complements the other. Since the story of the exodus from Egypt via “signs and portents” has served as an exemplar throughout the generations, we must tell and retell it year after year. Even if historians claim that there is no historical evidence of the exodus, the power of the historical memory remains, and serves as an exemplar for generations; therefore, we continue to teach and educate in its light.

d)  Why isn’t Moses mentioned in the Haggadah? We shall continue our discussion of the exodus as an exemplar for future generations with the question of why Moses is not mentioned in the Haggadah. After all, how is it possible that in the Haggadah, an educational project whose purpose is the remembrance of the exodus from Egypt as told in the Bible, Moses—the main figure in the story—does not appear? Why does the Haggadah ignore Moses? Is the reason coincidental or intentional? And if it is intentional, what is the intention? Who were the “censors”? By what right did our forefathers, of blessed memory, cause the central heroic figure of the exodus to disappear?249 I shall now present two possible interconnected answers to this intriguing question—one theological (religious) and the other historical. The theological answer explains Moses’s non-appearance in the Haggadah via the claim that the writers of the Haggadah did not want God (“the real hero” of Passover) to be confused with His messenger (Moses).250 The Haggadah is based on the biblical text: “For that night I will go through the land of Egypt and strike down every first-born in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and I will

248 Shlomo Weissblit, “In Every Generation One Must” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo’ed: Passover, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2008), 33. 249 See chapter six in this book for a discussion of the “disappearing” of the Maccabees from the story of Hannukah. 250 Zakovitch and Shinan moreover discuss the possibility of a “personality cult” around Moses. The fear, which can be discerned in the Bible, may be seen in the Haggadah as well. See Zakovitch and Shinan, That’s Not What the Good Book Says, 157–158, 164, 172.

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mete out punishments to all the gods of Egypt, I the Lord” (Exodus 12:12).251 The composers of the Haggadah understood God’s words in Exodus 12:12—“I, the Lord”—as “I, and not Moses;” or in the words of the Haggadah: “I passed through the land of Egypt on this night”—I and not an angel “I struck every firstborn in the land of Egypt”—I and not a seraph “And I meted out punishments to all the gods of Egypt”—I and not a messenger. “I, the Lord”—I and no other. Even in the story of the parting of the Red Sea we find a division of roles between God and Moses as to who performed the miracle. For example: “Then Moses held out his arm over the sea and the Lord drove back the sea with a strong east wind all that night, and turned the sea into dry ground” (Exodus 14:21). Although Moses held out his arm over the sea, it was the Deity who drove back the sea with an east wind. Moreover, the chapter detailing the parting of the sea concludes with: “Thus the Lord delivered Israel that day from the Egyptians” (14:30), that is, the Lord, and not Moses—although the end of the chapter reminds us that the people “had faith in the Lord and his servant Moses” (14:31). In the latter we discern cooperation, a division of labor, as it were, between God and Moses. The writers of the Haggadah found it necessary, however, to prevent Moses from being seen as a god, as a competitor of the Lord of the Universe. After all, there is only one God. The historical answer to the question of Moses’s disappearance from the Haggadah is connected to the period—during the Exile—when the Haggadah was composed. The figure of Moses was problematic because during this period the Jews, on the one hand, were involved in an argument with the Samaritans, who only accepted the Torah and the prophet Moses, and on the other hand, Jews were in bitter conflict with Christians, for whom Jesus was “the second Moses,” or arguably a replacement for Moses.252 For Christianity Moses was the father of the Hebrew Bible (the Old Testament), while Jesus, the father of the New Testament, was the Son of God and the Savior of all peoples, and as such superseded Moses on a number of levels. If Jesus was—in the eyes of Christians—Moses’s successor, presenting Moses in the Haggadah might

251 The latter admittedly stands in contrast to the Deity’s words when He spoke to Moses out of the burning bush: “Come, therefore, I will send you to Pharaoh, and you shall free My people, the Israelites, from Egypt” (Exodus 3:10). 252 See, for example, Zakovitch and Shinan, That’s Not What the Good Book Says, 171.

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play into Christian hands, as it were. Or in the words of Shoham, “From an historical point of view, there are those who believe that the Haggadah was shaped—immediately following the destruction of the Second Temple—as part of the ongoing controversy with Christianity. Moses’s name is missing from the Haggadah in order to demonstrate the power of the Jewish God, Who does not need human messengers (such as Jesus).”253 To sum up the issue of why Moses is not mentioned in the Haggadah, I argue that the “expulsion” of Moses from the Haggadah is unjust towards us, his descendants, as we celebrate our people’s release from bondage under his leadership. As we contemplate and undertake changes in the Haggadah, let us praise the various kibbutz Haggadot254 for returning Moses to his rightful place in the Haggadah.

4)  Point of Order—a Suggestion: Strengthening the Haggadah’s Zionist Message I shall now proffer a “point of order” in the spirit of the Zionist movement, based upon a return to our people’s written sources, and especially the Bible. In the Jewish calendar Passover is one of the three pilgrimages to Jerusalem, as mandated in the Torah, in which the children of Israel are commanded to ascend to Jerusalem: “three times a year you shall hold a festival for Me: [. . .] the Feast of Unleavened Bread [. . .] the Feast of the Harvest [. . .] the Feast of the Ingathering [. . .] Three times a year all your males shall appear before the Sovereign, the Lord” (Exodus 23:14–17). In the course of the long centuries of exile during which the Haggadah was created, it was difficult to know how to relate to the commandment to ascend to Jerusalem. A careful reading of the story of the exodus in the Haggadah (which is based on the “First fruits and Tithes” in Deuteronomy 26:1–11) reveals that the story as told in the traditional Haggadah (only vv. 1–8) is cut off after the description of the Deity’s rescue of the Jews from Egypt. It turns out that the next verse in Deuteronomy 26, which is not referred to in the Haggadah, speaks of the ascension to the land of Israel: “He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey” (Deuteronomy 26:9). The elimination of this biblical passage, telling as it does of the aim of the exodus—

253 Shoham, Let’s Celebrate!, 27. 254 For a broader discussion of kibbutz Haggadah, see Muki Tsur and Yuval Danieli, eds., Israeli Pesach in the Kibbutz [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 2004).

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to come to the Land—was apparently intentional and reflects the worldview of the exiled composers of the Haggadah. As Zarhi et al. note, “The midrash that appears in the Haggadah and eliminates the last verse [Deuteronomy 26:9], was based on the idea that the land of Israel was not the absolute aim of the exodus from Egypt.”255 Although it is possible to disagree with the above claim, it is fairly clear that the composers of the traditional Haggadah were living in a difficult reality of exile, in which immigration/return to the land of Israel was not only dangerous, but effectively impossible—and therefore the idea of an imminent return was irrelevant. This approach is expressed in the “the three oaths,” which were developed in the wake of the failure of the Bar Kochba rebellion in 135 CE: 1) “Do not rebel against the gentiles (in their kingdoms)”; 2) “Do not ascend the walls.” (i.e., Do not attempt to build Jerusalem); 3) “Do not hasten the end.” (In other words, wait for the coming of the Messiah).256 The Sages in their wisdom decided—apparently for reasons of survival—not to mention return to the Land, although they certainly dreamed of it. The prayer “Next year in Jerusalem” expresses this dream. The challenge of surviving in a seemingly endless exile encouraged passivity, a continued acceptance of life in exile. One of the lessons for our time, when Jews have our own country, is that convictions which were relevant—and even necessary for survival—in a reality of exile and powerlessness, may now be irrelevant for us. We can now choose concepts from our past which are relevant to our lives, our beliefs and our thinking, both vis-à-vis our holidays generally and the Haggadah specifically. As we encourage our children and grandchildren to make the changes needed in order to suit the Haggadah and the various customs which are part of the celebration of Passover to a changing reality, we are in fact preserving our past.

255 Zarhi et al., Hatsa’ah l’Seder, 49. 256 The source of “the three oaths,” which the Deity caused Israel and the nations to swear, concerning exile and the aliya to the Land of Israel is the Talmud, Ketuvot 1:111. Regarding the three oaths in the Bible, see Song of Songs 2:7, 3:5, 5:4: “I adjure you O maiden of Jerusalem . . .”

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a)  What is the place of the entrance into the land of Israel in the biblical story of the exodus from Egypt? A sensitive reading of the biblical story of the exodus reveals two parallel formulations: one speaks of “I have brought you out from Egypt” while the second speaks of “I have brought you up from the land of Egypt.” These formulations express two concepts, or perhaps two different emphases as to the central meaning of the exodus. The first centers on the verb brought out and focuses on departure from slavery in Egypt, performed by the Deity. The second formulation centers on the verb brought up and focuses on ascension (aliya) to the promised land.257 There appears to be a hidden tension between the tendency to see the exodus from Egypt as a release from slavery, and the tendency to see the exodus as a stage in the ascent to the land of Israel. The exodus from Egypt is a passage from slavery to freedom. Passover is known as the Festival of Freedom. This festival marks the hope for freedom, and is common to all of us in all times. Erich Fromm suggests differentiating between “freedom from” (from someone or something) and “freedom to” (freedom to choose to do).258 For example: an ex-convict is free to choose his own way from the moment of his release from prison; but what will he choose? To “go straight” or to return to a life of crime? “Freedom from” takes the ex-con only part of the way; he is focused on his past. “Freedom to,” the freedom to choose, enables him to look forward, to focus on the future. Thus on the basis of Fromm’s definition, the exodus from Egypt, from the house of slavery, can be equated with “freedom from” while the entrance into (aliya) to the promised land is compared with “freedom to.” At this point the main question is what those who left Egypt—and their offspring—will do in the promised land. How will they live? And perhaps most important, how do we, their descendants, choose to live? After all, one chooses his or her path in life daily, every hour, and not just once a year. This is the test of true freedom; this is our greatest challenge, both as individuals and as a people.259

257 See Peleg, Go You Forth, 218–223. 258 Erich Fromm, Escape from Freedom [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1992). 259 As yet the Jewish calendar does not contain a special day devoted to the people’s entrance to the promised land under Joshua’s leadership, although it has been suggested that Sukkot would be an appropriate occasion: see Shoub, Beyond the Realm of the Profane, 34–36. I suggest that Independence Day would be a better time for this educational task. Independence Day observances have not as yet been fully crystallized, and the addition of the marking of the people’s entrance into the Land could provide an extra significance to this day.

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b) Four cups of wine? Or five? The drinking of four cups of wine has been part of the Seder, as mandated in the Haggadah. According to the Jerusalem Talmud: Why are there four cups? Rabbi Yohanan in the name of Rabbi Benaya: The four cups represent four aspects of redemption: “I will free you from the labors of the Egyptians and deliver you from their bondage. I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and through extraordinary chastisements. And I will take you to be my people.” [Exodus 6:6–7]260 For centuries, moreover, a fifth cup has been customary in many communities. There are two possible meanings of this custom: the cup may be intended for the prophet Elijah, or can symbolize the entrance of the people into the promised land. The custom of the fifth cup as belonging to Elijah is discussed by Zarhi, et al: From the time of the Tannaim (10–220 C.E.) up till our day Jews have disagreed as to how many cups are drunk at the Seder. According to the Halakha, four cups are obligatory. As to the fifth cup: some claim- that it is obligatory, others that it is not obligatory, but is acceptable, while still others argue that it is forbidden. The tradition according to which this is Elijah’s cup has developed on the basis of the doubts as to its legitimacy. The question “Do we, or do we not, drink a fifth cup at the Seder?” remains open, only to be answered on Elijah’s ultimate return.261 In various Jewish communities, customs based on the hope of Elijah’s eventual appearance at the Seder table have developed, including leaving the door open for Elijah, preparing an empty chair for the prophet, and having one of the adults-dressed up as Elijah—bring presents for the children (the influence of Santa Claus/Father Christmas is palpable in this). The concept of a fifth cup expressing hope for a return to our homeland is less familiar to many Jews, but does date far back.

260 Jerusalem Talmud, Pessahim 10:1. 261 Zarhi et al., Hatsa’ah l’Seder, 105. See also Rambam, “Rules for levened bread and matzot” 8, 10. The Rambam saw the fifth cup as optional.

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In Passover Throughout the Generations: The History of the Seder Yosef Tavori traces the spread of the custom of drinking a fifth cup of wine at the Seder. According to Tavori: There is no talmudic evidence that a fifth cup of wine was drunk at the Seder during the period of the Amoraim (c.200–500 C.E.). The earliest time as to which we have evidence of drinking and blessing a fifth cup is the middle of the ninth century C.E. The fifth cup was optional. [. . .] In the end the Ashkenazi ruling that the fifth cup should not be drunk was accepted, and Rabbi Yosef Karo did not mention this cup in the Shulhan Aruch.262 Rappel and Selah argue that the source of the fifth cup is the verse following the source of the four cups of redemption: “I will bring you into the land which I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and I will give it to you for a possession, I the Lord” (Exodus 6:8). Thus Rappel and Sela suggest that the fifth cup represents national freedom in the Land of Israel.263 During the long centuries of exile, the fifth cup symbolized the hope of returning to our homeland; now it expresses the realization of that hope. Or in other words, the (first) four cups denote the exodus from Egypt— “freedom from”—while the fifth cup represents the entrance (aliya) into the land of Israel (“freedom to”). The traditional Haggadah does not bear a “Zionist” message in that it does not overtly encourage aliya to the land of Israel. I therefore argue that we should now add to the Haggadah our sense of connection with, and belonging to, our homeland. This will make the Haggadah even more relevant to those of us who live in Israel. Much as spinning tops which children play with during Hannukah in Israel have letters representing “A great miracle took place here” (instead of there, as is customary in the diaspora), let us end our Seder with “This year in Jerusalem” rather than “Next year.” This will give expression to our joy at being part of the process of realizing our people’s aim of returning to our homeland and establishing a Jewish State. In the words of the song sung by the early Jewish pioneers, “We both build our homeland and are “built” by it.” It is my belief that our brothers and sisters who do not live in Israel share in this rejoicing.

262 Yosef Tavori, Passover throughout the Generations: The History of the Seder [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1996), 329, 332, 338. 263 Yoel Rappel, ed., Jewish Holidays’ Encyclopedia [Hebrew] (Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers, 2004), 39.

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To conclude: Let us recall that this book has an educational basis. We began this chapter by noting that after the destruction of the Second Temple, prayer and written texts replaced Temple sacrifices as means of “telling our sons.” The Haggadah of Passover is a central text in the process of educating our children, of “telling our sons” (“And you shall tell your son”—Exodus 13:8) the history of our people, and I hope that cultural and spiritual leaders of Jewish communities will encourage us to make adjustments to the text which forward these educational goals.

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Lessons from Our Journey through the Jewish Calendar from a Child’s Overview Our historical ethnic, genetic peoplehood is the story of disaster following disaster. [. . .] It is not easy to be a Jewish child growing up into this history. [. . .] Our history has more victims than heroes. (Amos Oz and Fanny Oz-Salzberg) 264

We shall begin this presentation of lessons from the command “And you shall tell your son” with Amos Oz’s anecdote of his Uncle Zemach: For my Uncle Zemach all the holidays were equal, more or less, aside from Tu B’shvat, to which he accorded a special honor. He used to say: “During Hannukah Jewish children learn to be angry at the evil Greeks. On Purim—at the Persians. On Passover they hate the Egyptians, and on Lag B’omer, the Romans. On Tish’a B’Av we fast, against Babel and Rome. It’s only on Tu B’shvat that we haven’t fought with anybody, and we’ve had no troubles—but to the children’s annoyance on Tu B’shvat it almost always rains.”265

264 Oz and Oz-Salzberg, Jews and Words, 16, 164. 265 Amos Oz, Soumchi ( Jerusalem: Keter, 1990), 16–17.

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The idea underlying the command “And you shall tell your son” is first and foremost educational, and is intended to follow us from day to day, from year to year, throughout our lives. Education is always aimed at the long term. The holidays assist us as educators in internalizing and transmitting our cultural traditions, while building and nurturing a deep sense of belonging to our people. The holidays aid us in transmitting to future generations our common past, culture, and heritage.

1)  What to Tell Our Children via the Holidays and How Prior to concluding this book I propose to “close the circle,” as it were, by returning to the beginning: the words of Eliezer Schweid: [. . .] the Jewish calendar, with its sabbaths, festivals, and holy days, is the most concrete expression of the Jewish world view; there is no educational means more suitable to getting to know Judaism as a living heritage, than studying and experiencing the holidays.266 The holidays are not only an educational means of learning and experiencing. They also build our identity and sense of belonging. If we agree that the Jewish calendar simultaneously shapes our identity as individuals and as a people, it is unfortunate that such a strong emphasis is placed on days of memorial, grief, and fasting, throughout the year. This emphasis is especially difficult for our children. As parents and educators, we should be asking ourselves if this is not an excessive burden on the younger generation. I have already noted that the fact of the establishment of the State of Israel has not yet penetrated deeply into our consciousness. We have not yet translated this founding event into an integral part of our calendar. The establishment of the State—the fruit of the ideology of the Zionist movement—should be seen as a watershed event in the celebration of our holidays. Sorrow and grief for the destruction of the Temple have been deeply etched in our consciousness; in their light, our forefathers made changes in our holidays. The Return to Zion in the days of Ezra and Nehemiah, too, has left its mark. Thus, we should internalize the establishment of the State as a cause of pride, hope and joy. I do

266 Schweid, The Jewish Experience of Time, 10.

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not suggest that we ignore the ongoing difficulties accompanying our lives as Jews in Israel and in the diaspora. But from the bird’s-eye perspective of two thousand years of exile, the fact of our having achieved our own sovereign country is indeed cause of pride and rejoicing. This consciousness, while applying to all of our holidays, is especially important for the celebration of Israel’s Independence Day. While the next chapter of this book is devoted to a discussion of Israel’s Independence Day as an exemplar, this chapter is devoted to a child’s overview of the Jewish calendar, including fasts and other days of mourning. The latter may constitute a “sensory overload,” as it were, on our younger generation. I take as my jumping-off point the following, from the pen of Salo Baron, one of the great historiographers of the twentieth century. Baron has defined and criticized a trend which might be called the cry-baby approach to Jewish historiography: All my life—throughout the last forty years—I have struggled against the prevalent idea that Jewish history is one big “vale of tears”—since I believe that the excessive, almost the only emphasis in the overall view of Jewish history—is on Jewish suffering. This approach, however, is no longer acceptable to a generation which is tired of the “nightmare” of endless persecution and slaughter.267 Journalist Danny Barzilai notes that every year, in the period leading up to Rosh Hashana, he thinks about time and its meaning for us: Time does not pass for us. Rather we pass through time; and just as we move through space, we move through time. We cannot “waste time;” we can only position in time events happy and sad.268 In other words, we ourselves bear the responsibility for placing in time—in the Jewish calendar—happy and sad events from the present and past. The choice of the amount of sorrow and joy is ours. The way in which we relate to these events influences the way in which we understand the events, ourselves, and our identity.

267 Baron, Jewish History, 29–30. 268 Danny Barzilai, “The time of Rosh Hashana and its meaning for us” [Hebrew], Yediot Hakibbutz Weekly, September 19, 2014.

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2)  A Child’s Journey through the Days of Mourning in the Jewish Calendar A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under heaven [. . .] A time for weeping and a time for laughing. (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4)

The following journey through days of sorrow and joy in the Jewish calendar is detailed as if in the eyes of a Jewish child living and growing up today. We shall begin with the holidays of Tishrei—although we should note that Rosh Hashana is immediately preceded by the days of slihot in the month of Elul, in which many Jewish communities wake up before dawn, and meet at the synagogue to pray for forgiveness for sins committed during the year coming to an end. Tishri opens with Rosh Hashana, which in Israel is generally a family holiday, in which extended families meet on the holiday eve for a festive meal. Since Rosh Hashana is a national holiday of two days, many families spend it at hotels in the Galilee or Eilat, or even camping out. Rosh Hashana is followed by the Days of Awe,269 the ten days between the New Year and Yom Kippur. These days are also called the Ten Days of Repentance. On Yom Kippur itself we are called upon to “practice self-denial” (Leviticus 16:29), which is generally understood to mean fasting. Let us admit that there is something discouraging, disquieting, about beginning the new year in this way. These observances, however, are accompanied by the Blessings of the Monarchies—birkat malchuyot—which do give expression to our request for hope and joy: “Lord, give honor to your people, and good hope to those who seek you [. . .], happiness to your land and joy to your city” (from the mussaf prayer for Rosh Hashana). If we view Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, with the ten days between, as a continuum, the Jewish year thus opens with a sense of rejoicing mixed with fear. The latter reaches its high point on Yom Kippur. In very observant families, moreover, the child may be exposed to the Fast of Gedalia—586 BC (on the third day of Tishri), in which the murder of Gedalia ben Ahikam is mourned

269 I would like to thank the anonymous reviewer who suggests that we take into account the spiritual power of the themes of the regarding the Days of Awe. In Hebrew, the meaning of the word norah (Awe) is frightening: see Habakkuk 1:7: “They are terrible, dreadful.” There is also a sense of honor, arousing respect; see Job 37:22: “The splendor about God is awesome.”

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(2 Kings 25:25; Jeremiah 41:2). This day is meant to mark the dangers of internecine conflict among Jews, of the tragic kind which we have witnessed in our lifetime, in the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin. I should like to note, however, that in the majority of Jewish families and communities the Fast of Gedalia is not marked. The pi’ut270 U’Netaneh Tokef of Rabbi Amnon of Migentse, composed in the sixth century CE in the land of Israel, describes the terrible heavenly day of judgment, and is a central part of Yom Kippur services. It is written in such a way as to increase the congregation’s sense of fear and anxiety in the face of the Day of Judgment, as each and every Jew contemplates the imminent possibilities of being judged, whether to life or to death. Our Jewish child is not required to fast until the age of thirteen, but he or she who lives in a religiously observant community would certainly be sensitive to a certain heavy atmosphere during the Ten Days of Repentance and certainly on the day of the fast itself. In Israel Yom Kippur is marked by another “custom,” which Jews of the diaspora find surprising, to say the least. A Jew who lives surrounded by nonJews of course expects that his neighbors, and the community as a whole, will continue with their daily lives of work, school, etc., on Yom Kippur. In Israel, where the Jews are the majority, the whole country is effectively closed down on this one day of the year (with the exception of towns and neighborhoods in which the non-Jewish population forms the majority.) There are no flights into or from Ben Gurion Airport; cars are not driven in the streets, with the exception of the occasional ambulance. Israeli television and radio do not operate; stores, businesses, and restaurants are closed. Throughout the last thirty or forty years, a new tradition has developed and spread on this day. Since there is no automobile traffic in the streets and highways, in many cities and small towns young people and their parents— including those who will attend the Ne’ilah ceremony later in the day—spend much of the day riding their bicycles in the empty streets. Owners of stores which sell bicycles and bike equipment do a brisk business during the week before Yom Kippur, and many families who plan to buy their child a new bicycle take advantage of the pre-holiday sales. This “custom” is, of course, not practiced in communities with an orthodox population, which would be deeply offended by the sight of their neighbors riding bicycles on the holy day. The prevalence

270 A pi’ut is an extra-biblical text, which has become part of various Jewish synagogue liturgical traditions.

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of the custom does, however, raise the question of the meaning of Yom Kippur for those who are not religiously observant. Immediately after Yom Kippur our Jewish child is invited to help decorate the family sukkah, a sukkah at his kindergarten or school, and possibly at his neighborhood youth club. Even though the adults of the community—especially in rural areas—may be concerned that the autumn-winter rains have not yet begun, the child probably hopes that there is no rain until after the festival, in order that all may enjoy the week of eating, playing, receiving guests (who usually bring presents) in the sukkah. The week-long festival itself is generally a joyous occasion. Schools are closed; many families take hikes in nature during what is often a beautiful time of year. Children, of course, enjoy being in the sukkah with their friends, cousins, older siblings. Rejoicing during the Festival of Sukkot is mandated in the Torah: After the ingathering from your threshing floor and your vat, you shall hold the Feast of Booths for seven days. You shall rejoice in your festival. (Deuteronomy 16:13–14) Indeed, during Sukkot we look backward with joy and forward with hope. As a harvest festival, Sukkot marks the end of the summer heat, and the conclusion of a successful harvest. In religious terms, the yearly cycle of the weekly Torah readings is complete; this is celebrated on Simhat Torah, with its enthusiastic singing and dancing. Looking forward with hope to the onset of the rainy season in the land of Israel, prayers are said for a winter of plentiful rain. It is customary to read the Book of Ecclesiastes in synagogues—but few children would be disturbed by the Book’s serious message. From the child’s viewpoint, we can wish that all of our holidays would be as joyous as Sukkot. When searching for joy in the celebration of Sukkot, I came across (on Wikipedia) a poster, written in Hebrew. It was published in New York. The text, by Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, encourages a sense of joy: “The most important thing is to be happy.” The latter is based on two biblical verses: Deuteronomy 16;13–14—Rejoice in your festivals” [in this case Sukkot]—and the second on Psalms 100:2— “Serve God with joy.” The complete text translates as follows: The most important thing is to be happy According to the Torah, Rosh Hashana, a day of supplication and heartbreak, is one day. Yom Kippur—a day of fasting and pleas for forgiveness—is also one day. But Sukkot we celebrate— “the time

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of our joy”—during seven days. Because the Torah tells us to celebrate seven days. This is because God wishes Israel to be happy: “Serve God with joy.” (Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsh)271 A poster such as this serves as a balancing force for the feelings of sorrow, which are sometimes the portion of the Jewish child during the course of the Jewish year. Between Sukkot and Hannukah the schoolchild would learn about two events in recent Jewish history which took place at this time of year: one tragic, and the other cause for rejoicing. On November 4, 1995 Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated by a violent extremist who objected to the Prime Minister’s political agenda. Schools generally mark this via memorial assemblies and teaching—in addition to Rabin’s life and contribution to the building of our country—about the dangers of unjustified hatred. In Tel Aviv there is a wellattended public memorial meeting, to which many parents bring their children. On November 2, 1917, in the midst of World War I, the government of the United Kingdom published the Balfour Declaration. The latter, stating as it does His Majesty’s Government’s commitment to the establishment of a Jewish national home in the land of Israel, was a constitutive event for the Jewish yishuv, as well as for the world-wide Zionist movement. Since then, over a century has passed. Do we know how to celebrate this happy day as part of the Jewish calendar? As is the case with November 4, attention is devoted to this day in history lessons in schools. Neither of these days are national holidays, however, and were it not for current-events lessons in schools, many young people would not know much about them. The next holiday is Hannukah. This is a week-long school holiday, and most children experience it as a happy occasion. As I have noted in chapter 6, Hannukah has many serious aspects, and should be used to raise moral issues, including, but not limited to, the Maccabees’ violence against those of their fellow-Jews known as Hellenists—a largely urban group who identified with Greek culture. The holiday itself, however, is also known as the Festival of Lights, and the daily lighting of the eight-branched candelabrum, the presents showered on youngsters, the pastries and pancakes, make for a holiday which is appealing to children and adults alike.

271 bing.com/images

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The same may be said of Tu B’shvat, the New Year of the Trees. The latter lasts only one day, but many schools and communities take their children out to plant trees, or to partake in nature walks—weather permitting. In any case, there is a plethora of dried fruit and nuts which add sweetness to the day. A month after Tu B’shvat we celebrate Purim, in which we are commanded to rejoice. The latter command can be obeyed, in the case of adults, by getting drunk. Purim, that celebration of our people’s salvation, under the leadership of Esther and Mordechai, from threatened genocide, is preceded by the Fast of Esther, by means of which the queen prepared herself for approaching the king and pleading with him to preserve her people. Once again, in orthodox families the adults fast on this day—but it is a regular day of work and school, and probably is not sensed in the general population as a fast day. Passover takes place near the end of the winter cold and rains; all nature awakens and blossoms. Much as is the case with Sukkot, Passover focuses on hope and joy. The Book of Ezra tells of the Jews returning from the Babylonian exile: The returning Jews “joyfully celebrated the Feast of Unleavened Bread for seven days, for the Lord had given them cause for joy” (Ezra 6:22). We have already noted that the Haggadah opens with “In every generation our enemies have attempted to destroy us.” Yet even when the suffering caused to the children of Israel by Pharaoh is detailed, it serves as proof of hope and redemption. God saved his people in the past, thus encouraging us to hope for His salvation in the present and future. Between Passover and Shavu’ot there are seven weeks: forty-nine days, known as the counting of the Omer. These weeks contain a concentration of days of mourning, both for the orthodox Jew, and to a lesser extent, for the less observant. The source of the Omer is in the Bible: And from the day on which you bring the sheaf of elevation offering—the day after the sabbath—you shall count off seven weeks. They must be complete: you must count until the day after the seventh week—fifty days; then you shall bring an offering of new grain to the Lord. (Leviticus 23:15–16) In the latter there is no hint of sorrow, but rather a sense of gratitude for a successful spring grain harvest. In Jewish culture, however, the period of the counting of the Omer is considered one of mourning. This is expressed by prohibitions: weddings do not take place; men do not shave or cut their hair. Interestingly, while many Jewish men do not shave or take haircuts during the

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first month of mourning for a loved one, wedding ceremonies are as a rule not cancelled, even when a close family member passes away near the date of the wedding. The connection between the counting of the Omer and mourning is traditionally ascribed to the purported death of some 24,000 pupils of Rabbi Akiva during this period; according to the Mishnah they died because “they did not behave toward one another with honor” (Yivamot 62b). With all our shock at the tragedy of the death of the great Rabbi’s pupils, there seems to be a lack of proportion in the devotion of a whole month to the death of these young men, close to two millennia ago. As journalist and observant Jew Jacky Levi notes: How is it that Holocaust Remembrance Day, and Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers [both of which fall during the period of the Omer] merely last one day each,” while the Omer is meant to constitute well over a month of grieving?272 In fact, in various streams within Judaism, as well as in various communities, there are actually diverse customs regarding weddings during the counting of the Omer. Some communities observe the mourning (e.g. do not hold weddings) only till the beginning of the month of Iyar. Others stop the mourning practices after Lag Ba’Omer. Yet others will not get married during the Omer unless it is Rosh Chodesh or Lag Ba’Omer. Reformed congregations generally have weddings during the Omer. Lag Ba’Omer—from mourning to rejoicing. In our time, hundreds of thousands of Jews, for the most part ultra-orthodox, make a yearly pilgrimage on Lag Ba’Omer to the tomb of Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai on Mount Meron in the Galilee. This custom apparently began in the sixteenth century CE. The custom of making en masse pilgrimages to the tombs of saintly figures has grown since the massive immigration of Jews from Morocco (where this was a widespread custom) to Israel. On Lag Ba’Omer, the date of bar Yohai’s death, tens of thousands of believers gather to sing, dance and pray, at and around the tomb.273

272 Jacky Levi, “The counting of the Omer and mourning” [Hebrew], Israel Today, May 16, 2014, 17. 273 The joy of Lag Ba’Omer balances a continuum of days of mourning. In the year 2020 the festival at the tomb of Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai could not be held because of the Covid-19 pandemic. It was therefore hoped that the celebrations in 2021 would be especially joyous. Tragically, in the early hours of April 30, at the high point of the festivities, forty-five children

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Simultaneously, children and young people throughout Israel light bonfires to celebrate Lag Ba’Omer.274 Children and their parents also make bows and arrows as a way of identifying with Bar Kochba’s fighters, who were armed with these weapons. Shimon bar Yohai was a pupil of Rabbi Akiva, who supported Bar Kochba’s uprising. Bar Yohai became a symbol of Torat Hasod and the Kabbalah, and is thus a central figure in Lag Ba’Omer and the festivities on Mount Meron. For our Jewish child who does not come from an ultra-orthodox family, the period of the Omer is not usually sensed as one of mourning. Lag B’omer, with its school holiday and night-long bonfires, at which large quantities of charcoalcovered roasted potatoes are consumed, is a high point in the period between Passover and Shavu’ot. Religious Jews have celebrations on Lag B’omer in which three-year-old boys have their hair cut for the first time. Lag B’omer and the two following weeks are very popular times for weddings. During the counting of the Omer there are, of course, two days of mourning resulting from recent events: The Day of Mourning for the Holocaust and Memorial Day for Israel’s fallen soldiers and for civilians murdered in terrorist attacks. On these days, as well as the three or four days prior to each, the atmosphere in the Jewish “street” is certainly heavy, and would be felt by our youngster. The counting of the Omer and its attendant mourning ends with Shavu’ot, on which we are commanded to rejoice. As noted in chapter 1, Shavu’ot celebrates the harvest of the first fruits. City people with family or friends in kibbutzim, moshavim, or agricultural villages, flock to the country to visit and share in the rejoicing. Shavu’ot celebrations also focus on the occasion on which, traditionally, the Torah was given to the children of Israel after the exodus from Egypt. The celebration of Simhat Torah began after the destruction of the Second Temple. It was, of course, impossible to continue the custom of making a pilgrimage to the Temple on Shavu’ot. In addition, life in exile made it very difficult to maintain the festival’s agricultural basis, which became effectively

and men died in a terrible accident—a human “avalanche” on the mountainside in which they were crushed to death. May their memory be for a blessing. 274 The custom of lighting bonfires at this time of year is an ancient one. Galpaz-Feller writes that “in Scotland it was customary to light a bonfire on May 1. This fire symbolized the end of winter and beginning of summer. In other places throughout Europe it was customary to sing and dance around a bonfire. It was believed that these fires would bring a hot growing season, thereby guaranteeing success to crops which had been planted in the winter.” Galpaz-Feller, Rediscovering the Holidays, 166.

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irrelevant. At this point the spiritual basis of Shavu’ot became the giving of the Torah. Some two months later we observe Tish’a b’Av, the Memorial Day for the destruction of Jerusalem and our Temple. It is mainly orthodox Jews who keep the fast of Tish’a b’Av, preceded by the three-week period yemei bein hametsarim. The latter recall the days of suffering and sorrow connected with the destruction of the First (586 BC) and the Second (70 CE) Temples; the expressions of mourning become more and more strict as Tish’a b’Av approaches. In all fairness, I note that the large majority of the non-orthodox population do not fast, or otherwise observe, this period of mourning. Our child will therefore probably not experience these days as disturbing the routine of summer vacation, with its day camps and visits to the beach. Since Tish’a b’Av takes place during the long summer school vacation, there is no educational framework in which the meaning of this day can be formally taught. There are, however, two other days devoted to the destruction of the Temple: 10 Tevet, which recalls the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem during the Babylonian period, and 17 Tammuz, the day in which the walls of Jerusalem were breached (the former takes place during the school year). Ordinarily the child will not be particularly interested in the Fifteenth of Av, the so-called “Day of Love,” which follows Tish’a b’Av by less than a week, and may involve parents going out to dinner or gifting each other. Coming full circle, during the month of Elul the child may—or may not – accompany his father to synagogue during the nights of slihot, in which many Jewish communities wake up before dawn, and meet to pray for forgiveness for sins committed during the year which is coming to an end. I am aware of the problematics of this overview, with its stated focus on days and weeks of sorrow. If we were to take a purely statistical approach, it is possible to count up the days (including the counting of the Omer), and conclude that the Jewish calendar has some sixty days (two months out of the twelve) of mourning. As a statistic this certainly can be considered overload!275

275 Yet the truth for each individual stream of Judaism, community, town or city, extended family, nuclear family, is more varied and nuanced. Since many of the days of mourning are not national holidays, but rather days of work and school, for a youngster much depends on how the day is marked in kindergarten, school, and in the media—mainly television— to which he or she is exposed. Children of families that are not orthodoxly observant may not even know whether, or why, some people fast on the Fast of Gedalia, Tenth of Tevet, Esther’s Fast, and, more often than we would like to think, probably are unfamiliar with the content of Tish’a B’Av. Indeed, for many children the Jewish holidays are probably perceived on balance as “upbeat.”

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3)  Strengthening the “Happiness” in Our “Happy Holidays!” On the basis of this child’s-level view of the Jewish calendar, I believe, on balance, that many Jewish frameworks may be placing a fairly heavy burden on their younger generation, especially in Israel, where days of mourning such as Holocaust Remembrance Day, Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terrorism, even Yom Kippur, are observed nationwide. At this point as parents and educators we should be asking ourselves whether this is desirable. I do not, of course, suggest abolishing days of remembrance (nor do I feel that I have the right to do so). But it is important to be sensitive to the ramifications of these days, and we should aim to focus these occasions—important as each one is—on developing our children’s sense of belonging to our people and our history as a whole, rather than focusing on our people’s millennia-long role as victims, as the ultimate Other. It is not necessary or desirable to “protect” our children from knowledge of the black days of our people’s past. As an educator, however, I reject the use of fear; I do not believe in educating via fear, whether explicit or implicit. Vis-à-vis our history, we should emphasize reasons for hope; it is hope, after all, which has enabled us to overcome suffering and despair. During the long centuries of exile hope in the coming of the Messiah enabled our people to survive, in spite of pogroms, humiliation, severe economic persecution. The thought that the Deity would not permanently desert His chosen people was, during many periods, the only source of hope. Today, however, when our people has its own country, we should draw from its strength, prosperity and achievements a sense of hope for the present and future—and this is true for all Jews, whether we live in Israel or not.

4)  The Jewish Calendar: Summing Up In the words of Chaim Nahman Bialik (1873–1934), Yiddish and Hebrew poet, and one of the pioneers of modern Hebrew poetry: “The holidays rise up above daily life in the same way as the mountain rises above the plains.” Michal Gur Aryeh expands the poet’s words: “We understand the great extent to which our forefathers were able to rise up above the quotidian on festivals and holy days, from the mitzva that forbids mourning on the Sabbath and on holidays.”276

276 Gur Aryeh, And You Shall Tell Your Son, 12, note 7.

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As we have seen in our discussion of Sukkot, the celebrants are commanded to rejoice: “And you shall rejoice in your festival” (Deuteronomy 16:14). I would hope that the command not to mourn on festivals be carried our according to the following verse: “the Lord will bless all your crops and all your undertakings, and you shall have nothing but joy” (16:15; my emphasis I.P). It is only natural that holidays express both joy and sadness. It goes without saying that I do not recommend trying to avoid or forget sorrow and mourning, and their causes. But I do suggest that as parents and educators, for whom the holidays serve—among their other purposes—as educational tools, we view and re-view the proportion of mourning in our observances of the Jewish festivals and holy days. Let us not sink deeply into suffering and sorrow. In the words of Israel’s national anthem, “Our hope is not yet lost.” Perhaps we might, in our thoughts at least, do without the word “yet”: “Our hope is not lost”! The establishment of the State of Israel, which is now the world’s largest Jewish community, and the main center of Jewish culture, as well as the ongoing development of other vibrant Jewish communities in the diaspora, should encourage each of us to undergo a conscious transition from despair to hope, from sorrow to joy, from exile to redemption, from Sho’ah to rebirth.

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Epilogue: How Should We Celebrate Independence Day? The Jewish calendar does not have any occasion on which aliya to the Promised Land is celebrated. The patriarch Abraham is the first to go up to the Land (Genesis 12:1–5) in response to the divine command “Go forth from your native land . . .” (Genesis 12:1). There is no holiday which tells the story of our people’s entrance into, and settling of, the Land, under the leadership of Joshua, son of Nun. On Passover we celebrate the exodus from Egypt—our release from slavery, rather than the entrance into our land, which according to the biblical narrative took place some forty years later. I should like to raise the possibility of celebrating our entrance into the Land on Israel’s Independence Day. Scholars have addressed the possibility of devoting a holiday to “the sons of Israel” entering the Land. Sarah Shoub poses a rhetorical question: “Is the entrance of the people into the land of our forefathers and settling of the land any less important than the exodus from Egypt? [. . .] Why hasn’t this historic event been celebrated as a holiday?” 277 Shoub then suggests celebrating our people’s return to the Land during Sukkot. Micha Goodman writes of the absence of any celebration of the conquest of the Land under Joshua’s leadership: The missing holiday—According to the Torah, all the generations following those who took part in the exodus from Egypt are obligated to remember this great event on Passover. All generations following the period of wandering in the desert are commanded to remember the forty years in the desert on Sukkot. It seems necessary that the dramatic historical process which

277 Shoub, Beyond the Realm of Profane, 34–35.

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took place after the long period in the desert—the conquest of the Land—should have its own place of honor in our calendar. There is a holiday of release from slavery—but no day marking our establishment as an independent people in our own land: no Independence Day. Where is this day? Why is there no day marking the conquest of the land? So much attention is devoted to the memory of the exodus; why is there no parallel evidence of encouraging future generations to remember the people’s entrance into the Land?278 The Hebrew Bible tells of the Deity’s command to Joshua to set up a permanent monument at the point at which the people crossed the River Jordan into the Land. According to God’s order, as relayed to Joshua, a monument of stones, representing each tribe, was established in the middle of the waters of the Jordan: This shall serve as a symbol among you: in time to come, when your children ask, “What is the meaning of these stones for you?” you shall tell them, “The waters of the Jordan were cut off because of the Ark of the Lord’s Covenant; when it passed through the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off.” And so these stones shall serve the people of Israel as a memorial for all time ( Joshua 4:6–7). The Book of Joshua, however, contains no mention of a holiday marking entrance into the Land. In Goodman’s words: “Even until this day, according to the Haggadah, the [wicked] child asks his parents ‘What is this service to you?’ But we have never heard of children asking—as Joshua would presumably have wished—‘What are these stones to you?’”279 In his discussion of the “missing holiday” Goodman focuses less on the entrance into the Land and more on the conquest of the Land: “The conquest is a central event in our people’s history, but we do not celebrate it. The conquest of the Land called for much strength—but it was not a sacred event.”280 On the other hand, I would suggest celebrating, not the military conquest of the Land, but rather the positive aspects of returning to our homeland and building herein

278 Goodman, Moses’s Final Oration, 150. 279 Ibid., 151. 280 Ibid.

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a sovereign society. Conquering parts of the land through wars is not in itself cause for rejoicing, and in fact historians do not think that the wars against the Canaanite tribes, with concomitant en masse slaughter of civilian populations, actually took place as detailed in the Book of Joshua. The entrance into the Land, however, can be celebrated by us all. As it turned out, towards the end of the original composition of this book, on 22 June 2016, the Knesset passed the “Aliya Day” law, which established a national day celebrating immigration and immigrants (olim) to the State of Israel. The day chosen is 10 Nisan, the day on which, according to tradition, Joshua, son of Nun crossed the Jordan River: this event is seen as the original First Aliya. 10 Nisan, however, falls during the Passover school vacation; therefore, Aliya Day is marked on 7 Heshvan. The passage of this law is important—but the process of establishing a special day, with its observances, is far from complete. Drawing a direct connection between honoring the contributions of new immigrants (the olim) to the State of Israel in our time, and the entrance of the sons of Israel into Canaan under Joshua’s leadership, positions Joshua as he who brought the people into their land. Yet Joshua was not the “first immigrant”; the honor of bearing that title belongs to Abraham. Giving meaningful content to Aliya Day must be an ongoing process; hopefully, not only as a special day marked in schools, but in the community as a whole. The idea of mandating by law the celebration of the “missing holiday” is worthy of support. I am not sure, however, that it should be observed on Sukkot. Independence Day is more appropriate, and with this addition, will complete Passover.

1)  How Should We Celebrate Independence Day? Israel’s Independence Day, our country’s national day, is marked on the fifth day of the month of Iyyar, when the leadership of the State declared the establishment of Israel as an independent country. Certain observances have become traditional on the holiday, while others may be said to be informal, and to a certain extent even vary from community to community. As is not surprising in a country which achieved independence a mere seven decades ago, the observances, whether ceremonial or social, formal or informal, are still in a state of change and development. This may be the point at which we can raise the possibility of seeing Independence Day as a completion of Passover. The time is ripe, in other words, for focusing on Independence Day, and making a convincing case for viewing this occasion as the turning point in Jewish

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history in the Modern Age. This turning point should be reflected in the Jewish calendar—in our holy days—in such a way as to instill hope and happiness in each and every one of us—Jews living in Israel, and Jews living in the diaspora. Let us note that part of the reason for the difficulty in rejoicing on Independence Day is its closeness to Memorial Day for our fallen soldiers and victims of terrorism. Until the evening of Memorial Day we mourn family members, friends, neighbors, army buddies, friends-of-friends, who gave their lives in the struggle for the establishment and continued building of our country; Israel television and radio devote the whole day’s programming to the fallen. At 7 PM, within a minute, flags are raised to full mast, fireworks go off, and celebrations begin. It is understandable that this transition is complicated, and for some, unbearable. Perhaps the decision, made as it was by the government of David Ben-Gurion in 1949, to observe Memorial Day immediately before Independence Day, was made too hastily, and intensifies the place of sorrow in our calendar in a way that the leaders of the country during the 1948–1949 War of Independence could not have expected.

2)  Point of Order—a Suggestion: “Haggadah of Yom Ha’atzma’ut—Independence Day” The command “And you shall tell your son,”which inspired the Passover Haggadah, is intended for Passover. Yaffa Binyamini suggests: Let us have a Haggadah for Independence Day. This Haggadah will contain texts which emphasize unity and community, without putting aside ways in which we differ. This is a challenging project, but not impossible.281 Continuity should be the basis of the place of Independence Day in the culture of Israel and of the Jewish people as a whole. The establishment of a sovereign state is the continuation of the dreams of generations of our people. The symbols of our country—the flag, coins, the candelabrum, the national anthem, reflect these dreams and the continuity of our people. Looking back

281 Yaffa Binyamini, “Let us have a Haggadah for Independence Day” [Hebrew], in Alei Mo’ed: Independence Day, ed. Itzik Peleg (Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2007), 75.

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to the Book of Books, our Declaration of Independence is called in Hebrew meggilat ha’atzma’ut (Scroll of Independence); the word meggilah is the same as that used for the titles of the five biblical Books (meggilot) which are read on Jewish holidays: the Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Esther. Moving forward in time, the Declaration of Independence quotes from the 1917 Balfour Declaration, in which Lord Arthur James Balfour, British Foreign Minister, expresses recognition of the Jewish right to a homeland: Paragraph 5: In the year 1897, at the summons of the spiritual father of the Jewish State, Theodore Herzl, the First Zionist Congress convened and proclaimed the right of the Jewish people to national rebirth in its own country. This right was recognized in the Balfour Declaration of the 2nd of November, 1917, and re-affirmed in the Mandate of the League of Nations which, in particular, gave international sanction to the historic connection between the Jewish people and Eretz-Israel and to the right of the Jewish people to rebuild its National Home. The Balfour Declaration should not only be taught in school history lessons—it should be part of our Haggadah for Independence Day. We should, in other words, have a Haggadah for Independence Day, which combines texts from the distant past, the recent past, and the present; creating such a Haggadah requires a great investment of time, energy, thought, and is probably best done with input from a number of people. The Haggadah should focus on our return to our Land and building of our national life and culture here. Perhaps we might combine the fifth cup of Passover with Independence Day, in honor of our modern Return to Zion. This would deepen the roots connecting us with the return to our homeland in the days of Joshua the son of Nun, and to the twelve stones which he erected in memory of the entrance into the Land (Joshua 4:4–9).

3)  “Our hope is not yet lost”—“Hatikvah”  Our journey is over—but it has just begun! We have followed the festivals and holy days through the course of the Jewish year. We have seen that the holidays fulfil a central educational role in shaping our sense of identity—What does it mean to me to be a Jew? —and of our sense of belonging to the Jewish people. The holidays include—at times

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explicitly, and at others implicitly—the command “And you shall tell your son.” The latter is couched in the singular (“your son,” rather than “your sons”) in order to emphasize the importance of listening and responding to each and every child as an individual, who is at any given moment at a particular stage in his life, and with his or her own personality and abilities. In other words, you shall tell your son according to the instruction of Proverbs: “Raise up / teach the lad according to his path.” We have seen that this journey, made by Jews year after year, exposes the child to a number of days of remembrance and mourning, and fast days. I do not suggest trying to forget the suffering undergone by our people throughout the generations, but rather attempting to add a focus on our victories, our many achievements, our people’s contributions to world culture and knowledge. We should aim at a balance between mourning and rejoicing. Our holidays should express pride and the joy of belonging to our people. Our holidays should express an approach of hope, of taking responsibility for the ongoing development of our only country: of sovereignty, rather than victimization. We have seen that our identity as Jews contains a variety of sub-identities; each group within our people is legitimate, and has the right to choose the ways in which it celebrates our festivals and holy days. This pluralistic approach underlies this book, and forms our common denominator as a people, encouraging as it does the sense of identity and belonging on the part of various groups among our people. Our desire to belong to the Jewish people is at the basis of this suggestion to focus on what we hold in common, and on acceptance of those who are “different.” Let us encourage the sense of unity among groups that have a variety of ways of expressing their Jewishness: let us take the “salad bowl,” rather than the “melting pot,” approach. Changes and developments in the ways in which we interpret and celebrate our holidays are legitimate, and should be embraced. We have seen that we are missing a holiday which expresses the joy of entering into the Land of Israel and building our lives in a sovereign state; or in the words of the folk song from the early Zionist period, “We have come to the Land to build it and to be built by it.” Now that we have our own country, it has been suggested that Independence Day, with the addition of a Haggadah of its own, should fill in what is missing in our narrative, in order for our holidays to be a complete reflection of our peoplehood. The main role of the holidays is one of experiential education of our sons and daughters, throughout the generations. The holidays bear ethical messages which are central to our sense of identity and of belonging to our people.

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I sincerely believe that “our hope is not yet lost.” As in the words of the “Hatikvah” (The Hope): “our hope—the two-thousand-year-old hope-will not be lost / To be a free people in our land / The land of Zion and Jerusalem.”282 I hope that I have succeeded in convincing the reader that the Jewish holidays—with all the rich variety of their customs—contain the basis of our common life as a people, now and in the future. This is how we shall view them and celebrate them. Happy Holidays!

282 The national anthem of the State of Israel. Its words were written in 1886 by Naphtali Herz Imber. The melody was written by Samuel Cohen, an immigrant from Moldavia.

Bibliography

A. In English Amit, Yairah. “Endings—Especially Reversal Endings.” Scriptura 87 (2004): 213–226. BDB: A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford: Clarendon, 1907. Brenner, Athalya, and Frank H. Polak, eds. Performing Memory in Biblical Narrative and Beyond. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2009. Childs, B. S. Memory and Tradition in Israel. London: SCM Press, 1962. Cohen, Leslie. Trapped inside the Story: The Biography of Naomi Kalsky. Jamul: Level 4 Press, 2007. Dallenbach, Layer. The Mirror in the Text, translated by Jeremy Whiteley with Emma Hughes. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1989. Englander, Nathan, and Jonathan Safran Foer, trans. and ed. New American Haggadah. New York: Little, Brown, and Company, 2012. Fox, Everett. The Five Books of Moses. New York: Schocken, 1995. Gerlach, Wolfgang. And the Witnesses were Silent: The Confessing Church and the Jews. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2000. Goldstein, Phyllis. A Convenient Hatred: The History of Antisemitism. Brookline: Facing History and Ourselves Foundation, 2011. Horwitz, Daniel M. A Kabbalah and Jewish Mysticism Reader. Philadelphia: JPS, 2016. Kushner, Harold. When Bad Things Happen to Good People. New York: Anchor, 2004. Peleg, Yitzhak (Itzik). “Two Readings of the Book of Jonah: ‘Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown’ ( Jonah 3:4).” In God’s Word for Our World, Biblical Studies in Honour of Simon John De Vries, edited by J. Harold Ellens et al., vol. 1, 262–274. London and New York: T & T Clark, 2004. ———. “Was Lot a Good Host? Was Lot saved from Sodom as a Reward for His Hospitality?” In Universalism and Particularism at Sodom and Gomorrah: Essays in Memory of Ron Pirson, edited by Diana Lipton, 134–162. Atlanta: SBL, 2012. ———. “Why Didn’t Ruth the Moabite Raise Her Child?” In In The Arms Of Biblical Women, edited by John T. Greene and Mishael M. Caspi, 281–300. New Jersey: Gorgias Press, 2013. ———. Going up and Going down: A Key to Interpreting Jacob’s Dream (Genesis 28:10–22). London: Bloomsbury, 2015. ———. “Two Readings of the Vision of the End of Days: The Peace Vision of the End of Days in Isaiah (2:2–5) and the Peace Vision in Micah (4:1–5).” In The Fruits of Madness: Perspectives on the Prophetic Movements in Three Traditions. Essays from the Seminar in Biblical Characters

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in Judaism, Christianity, Islam and in Literature, edited by John Tracy Greene, 133–146. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2016. Rosenfeld, Nancy. “Trees, Kings and Muses: Robert Grabes’s Battle of the Trees and Jotham’s Parable of the Trees.” Papers on Language and Literature 41, no. 2 (Spring 2005): 196–214. The JPS Hebrew-English Tanakh, second edition. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1999. Waxman, Mordecai, ed., Tradition and Change. New York: United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, 1958.

B. In Hebrew Aderet, Abraham. “Historical Memory and Personal Memory” [Hebrew]. Shittim, www. chagim.org.il. Ahad Ha’am. “Zionist Sabbath.” Hashiloach 3, no. 6 (1898). ———. The Complete Writings of Ahad Ha’am [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Dvir, 1947. ———. “Moses” [Hebrew]. In his At the Crossroads, vol. 1, 218–220. Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1981. Ahituv, Shmuel. “Omer” [Hebrew]. In Encyclopedia Biblica, vol. 6, columns 300–302. Jerusalem: Keter, 1971. Alon, Gedaliah. “Did the People and Its Sages Make the Hasmoneans Forgotten?” [Hebrew]. Studies in Jewish History 1 (1978): 15–25. Alon Igal, Curtain of Sand [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1959. Amit, Yairah. History and Ideology in the Bible [Hebrew]. Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers, 1997. ———. Revealed and Hidden in the Bible: Hidden Polemics in Biblical Narrative [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 2003. Baron, Salo. Jewish History [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Masada, 1960. ———. Worldwide Dimensions of Jewish History [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1996. Barzel, Neima. Choosing Good: Rescuing Jews in Poland and in Holland During World War II [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 2004. Barzilai, Danny. “The time of Rosh Hashana and its meaning for us” [Hebrew]. Yediot Hakibbutz Weekly, September 19, 2014. Bentov, Haim [Hebrew]. “The custom of reading the Book of Ruth on Shavuot,” The World of the Tanakh, Megillot. Tel Aviv: Revivim, 1988, 77. Binyamini, Yaffa. “Let us have a Haggadah for Independence Day,” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Independence Day, edited by Itzik Peleg, 75-76. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2007. Brandes, Yochi. “Who’s in Favor of Getting Rid of Fasts?” [Hebrew]. Israel This Week, July 12, 2013. ———. The Unknown Judaism [Hebrew]. Or Yehuda: Kinneret Zmora-Bitan, 2014.

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Brutin, Batia. “The Legal Basis for Teaching about the Holocaust in Israel” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust and Heroism, edited by Itzik Peleg and Batia Brutin, 8–12. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009. Buber, Martin. Document and Purpose [Hebrew], vol. 1. Jerusalem: Hasifriya hazionit, 1984. Buzaglo, Meir. “Educational Ideologies: a Mizrahi [Sepharadi] viewpoint” [Hebrew]. In Junctions: Values and Education in Israeli Society, 480–521. Jerusalem: Ministry of Education, 2001. Cohen, H. “Conversion” [Hebrew]. In The World of the Bible: Ruth, edited by Yair Zakovitch, 83. Jerusalem: Davidson-Ittai, 1987. Daum, Hanoch. “I believe” [Hebrew]. Seven Days, Yediot Aharonot Magazine, February 19, 2016, 22. Dayan, Moshe. Living with the Bible: A Warrior’s Relationship with the Land of His Forebears [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Edanim, 1978. Dor, Yonina. Were the Foreign Women Really Exiled? The Question of Separatism in the Days of the Return to Zion [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Magnes, 2006. Even Shushan Dictionary. Jerusalem: Kiryat sefer, 1988. Feldman, Yael. “Who is This Sacrifice/Victim? The Rise and Fall of Abraham the ‘Sacrificer’ during the 1950s” [Hebrew]. Beer Sheva Mican 9 (2008): 125–157. Fleishman, Joseph. Parent and Child in Ancient Near East and the Bible [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Magnes, 1998. Fromm, Erich. Escape from Freedom [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1992. Galpaz-Feller, Pnina. Rediscovering the Holidays, A New Perspective on the Jewish Festivals [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: TALI Education Fund, 2008. Getty, Yehoshua. “The Book of Esther—The Great Feminist Manifesto” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Purim, edited by Itzik Peleg, 1–104. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2011. Goodman, Micha. Moses’s Final Oration [Hebrew]. Yehuda: Kinneret Zmora Dvir, 2014. Gur Aryeh, Michal. And You Shall Tell Your Son: Festivals and Holy Days in Israel [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Sifriyat hapo‘alim, 1981. Hacohen, Menahem. “The Passover Haggadah.” In Jewish Holidays’ Encyclopaedia [Hebrew], edited by Yoel Rappel, 84. Jerusalem: Mo’ed, 2004. Haggadah. Commentary by Rabbi Israel M. Lau [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 2006. Hartman, Donniel. Circles of Belonging [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Shalom Hartman Institute2008. Heblin, Rina. Jewish-Israeli Times: The Jewish Holiday as a Key to Identity Discourse. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2009. Hoffman, Yair. “The Exodus from Egypt” [Hebrew]. In Israel Bible Encyclopedia. Tel Aviv: Am Oved and Masada, 1988. ———. The World of the Bible: Jeremiah [Hebrew]. Edited by Menachem Haran. Tel Aviv: Davidson-Ittai, 1994. ———. Aspects of Modern Biblical Criticism [Hebrew]. Tel-Aviv: Ministry of Defense Publishers, 1997. Kalimi, Yitzhak. “The Story of the Bravery of the Hashmoneans” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Hanukkah, edited by Itzik Peleg, 8-11. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2011.

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Katznelson, Berl. “The Sources which Do Not Disappoint” [Hebrew]. Davar Daily Newspaper, July 26 1934. Reprinted in The Complete Writings of Berl Katznelson, 301-303. Tel Aviv: Mapai, 1947. Kislev, Itamar. “Dances and Matchmaking on Yom Kippur” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Yom Kippur, edited by Itzik Peleg, 17-18. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2007. Klein, Yaakov. The World of the Bible: The Scroll of Esther [Hebrew]. Edited by Menachem Haran. Jerusalem: Davidson-Ittai, 1988. ———. “Introduction to the Five Scrolls” [Hebrew]. In The World of the Tanakh, Megillot. Tel Aviv: Revivim, 1988. Kovner, Abba. “One of a Minyan” [Hebrew]. In On the Narrow Bridge—Oral Essays, edited by Shalom Lurie, 121. Tel Aviv: Sifriyat hapo‘alim, 1981. Lau-Lavie, Naftali. A People as a Lion [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Ma’ariv, 1993. Lau Meir Israel, Haggadah, Commentary by Rabbi Lau Meir Israel, Tel Aviv: Yediot Aharonot 2006. Leibowitz, Yeshayahu. Discussions of the Weekly Torah Portion 1976–1982 [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Keter, 2000. Levi, Jacky. “A Story from the Haftorah” [Hebrew]. Israel Today, March 3, 2017. ———. “The counting of the Omer and mourning” [Hebrew]. Israel Today, May 16, 2014, 17. Levin, M. B. Treasury of the Geniuses [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Mosad ha-rav Kook, 1933. Licht, Jacob S. Time and Holy Days in the Biblical and the Second Commonwealth Periods [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1998. Livnat, Hannah. How Beautiful It Is to Be a Jew: Shaping Identity of Jewish Children in Germany 1933–38 [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Yad Va’shem, 2009. Lushi, Uzi. “Shavu’ot—Seven Names” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Shavu’ot, edited by Itzik Peleg, 3-5, Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009. Mack, Hananel. “History of Hanukkah” [Hebrew]. In The Days of the Hasmoneans: Sources, Conclusions, Selected Aspects, edited by Amit Eshel, 323. Jerusalem: Ben Zvi Press, 1995. Malul, Meir “Studies in Biblical Legal Symbolism—A Discussion of the Terms kanaph, ehq and hosen/hesen: Their Meaning and Legal Usage in the Bible and the Ancient Near East.” [Hebrew]. Shnaton An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies (1985): 191–211. Meir, Amira. “The feast of Shavuot: The Giving of the Torah. Really?” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Shavu’ot, edited by Itzik Peleg, 40. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2009. Mor, Sagit. “On Passover: Senses, Experience, and Education” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo’ed: Passover, edited by Itzik Peleg, 1-2. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2005. ———. “How Can Redemption be Celebrated in a Period of Destruction and Exile? On Creation and Silencing in the Passover Haggadah” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Passover, edited by Itzik Peleg, 59-61. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2008. Nora, Pierre. “Between Memory and History—On the Problem of the Place” [Hebrew]. Zmanim (Summer 1993): 5.

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Shuchtman, Eliav. “On the Custom of Giving Gifts to Poor Strangers on Purim.” Sinai 100 (1987): 823–855. Steinman, Yehudit. Shaping the Image of the New Hebrew Child [Hebrew]. PhD dissertation. Tel Aviv University: Tel Aviv, 2002. Talmi, Bini, Ronen Ahituv, and Ayelet Linn. Suggestions for Holiday Rituals in the Family [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Am oved, 2015. Tavori, Yosef. Passover throughout the Generations: The History of the Seder [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1996. Tsur, Muki, and Yuval Danieli, eds. Israeli Pesach in the Kibbutz [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 2004. Tur-Sinai, N. H. Peshuto Shel Mikra [Hebrew], vol. 1. Jerusalem: Kiryat sefer, 1962. Valden, Tzvia. “A journey of identity reading the “Song of Songs”, edited by Itamar Kislev, Sagit Mor and Yitzhak (Itzik), Peleg, Moed Annual for Jewish Jewish Culture Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture Studies, 2016, 136-169. Wahrmann, Nahum. The Holidays and Festivals of the Jewish People [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Ahiasaf, 1966. Waltzer, Michael. The Exodus from Egypt as a Revolution [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Aliyat Hagag and Papyrus, 1993. Weissblit, Shlomo. “In Every Generation One Must” [Hebrew]. In Alei Mo‘ed: Passover, edited by Itzik Peleg, 32-33. Beit Berl: Center for Jewish Culture, Beit Berl Academic College, 2008. Wieseltier, Meir. “Words.” In his The Concise 1960s. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1984. Wolffsohn, David. “How was Our National Flag Born?” Reprinted in The Book of Holidays [Hebrew], by Yom-tov Lewinsky, 432. Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1963. Yefet, Sarah. “Educational Aspects of the Definition of Identity during the Second Temple Period.” In A Variety of Beliefs and Views in Jewish Culture, edited by Dror Kerem. Jerusalem: Israel Ministry of Education and Culture, 1992. Yehoshua, A. B. In Defense of Normality: Five Essays on Zionism [Hebrew]. Jerusalem: Shocken, 1980. Yerushalmi, Yosef Haim, and Amos Funkenstein. “Past, History and Interpretation” [Hebrew]. Alpayim Am Oved, Tel Aviv (2007): 169–223. Yerushalmi, Yosef Haim. Remember: Jewish History and Jewish Memory [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Am oved, 1988. ———. Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory, 2nd ed. New York: Shocken, 1989. Zakovitch, Yair, and Avigdor Shinan. That’s Not What the Good Book Says. Tel Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 2004. Zakovitch, Yair. “Distance Needs Closeness” [Hebrew]. In Bible and Education, edited by Shamai Gelander. Kiryat Tiv’on: Oranim, 1995. ———. “Words, Stones, Memory, and Identity” [Hebrew]. In The Controversy about the Historical Truth of the Bible, edited by Israel L. Levine and Amihai Mazar, 66-74. Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi and Dinur Center, 2001. Zarhi, Shai, et al. Hatsa’ah l’Seder: The Passover Haggadah, Tradition and Renewal [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Yediot aharonot, 2001. Zisser, Baruch, and Charles Yishaiahu Liberman. To Choose Life: Israeli Judaism [Hebrew]. Tel Aviv: Bar Ilan University and Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 2004.

Detailed Contents

Acknowledgments

2

Introduction

3

1. Holidays as an Educational Tool throughout the Generations: Examples

5

1) The Contribution of Reading the Five Scrolls on the Holidays: The Song of Songs on Passover; The Book of Ruth on Shavu’ot; Lamentations on Tish’a b’Av; Ecclesiastes [Kohelet] on Sukkot; The Book of Esther on Purim 8 a) Reading the Book of Jonah on Yom Kippur 9 b) The Book of Jonah according to: “Train up a lad according to his way”

2) Education for All Generations on Sukkot

a) Why do Jews sit in the Sukkah? What does the Sukkah symbolize? b) The Four Species as symbols of the variety of identities among the people

11 12 13 15

3) “The opposite happened” (venahafoch hu) (Esther 9:1)—Purim in Every Generation 16 a) The source of sorrow on Purim 17 b) What is so educational about the commandment to get drunk on Purim? 18 c) On the dramatic change in the Book of Esther—“From grief to joy”— and on the holiday’s positive values 20

4) Passover’s Educational Message throughout the Generations (Ledorotaichem) 5) Education throughout the Generations on Shavu’ot a) Why is the Book of Ruth read in public on Shavu’ot? b) A positive view of Ruth the Moabitess

21 22 22 23

6) The Educational Contribution of the Sabbath throughout the Ages (Ledorotam) 27

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  2. Holidays as Tools for Shaping Jewish Identity

32



1)  Who Are We? What Is Our Identity?

32



2)  Individual Identity and Identity with the Jewish People

35



3) Is There Only One “Correct” Way to Celebrate the Jewish Holidays?

36



4)  Pluralism and Tolerance

37



5)  What Is a “Melting Pot”?

37



6)  Uniformity and Pluralism in the Story of the Tower of Babel

39



7)  Uniformity and Pluralism in the Vision of the End of Days

40

  3. Holidays as Building a Sense of Belonging to Our People



43

1) Belonging to the Past and the Present: Ushpizin and the Flag of Israel 44 a) The Ushpizin custom—Sukkot hospitality 45 b)  The flag of Israel 46 2) Belonging on the “Horizontal” Level: Our Sense of Belonging to Our Contemporaries 48 a)  How we build a sense of belonging—the Shofar49 b) How can the Jew who does not belong to any religious framework express belonging to our people on Yom Kippur?50 c) How can the Jew who does not belong to any religious framework express belonging to our people? Tish’a B’Av as an exemplar54

  4. Remembrance in the Holidays as Shaping Identity and a Sense of Belonging56

1)  Personal vs. Collective Remembrance



2)  What Deserves to Be Remembered?



57

60 a)  Let us remember the good (happy) and not the bad (sad)62 b)  According to the Bible, when God “remembers,” there is redemption64 c) Focusing on what we hold in common, and on the good in each person65



3)  How to Remember and Cause Others to Remember?

67



4)  To Sum Up: Memory, Celebration, Rejoicing

67

Detailed Contents

  5. The Memory of the Holocaust as Shaping Identity and Belonging70

1) The Tenth Day of the Month of Tevet: The General Day of Kaddish

72



2)  The Day of Remembrance of the Holocaust and Heroism

74



3) The Holocaust and the Bible: “Thou shalt not take the name of the Sho’ah in vain”

76





4)  Lessons from the Sho’ah: Be Strong and Humane a)  What is the role of the journeys to Poland? b)  To be a compassionate person, involved and sensitive to the other

5) Righteous among the Nations: (Righteous Gentiles) as Ethical Exemplars

78 79 81 84

  6. Developments and Changes in the Holidays and in How We Relate to Them

87

`

1)  Changes in Rosh Hashana

88



2)  Changes in Yom Kippur

90



3)  Changes in Hannukah:

91 93 95







a)  By what right was the story of the Maccabees’ heroism censored? b)  For and against the miracle in Hanukkah songs c) Is the story of the miracle of the jar of oil, which burned for eight days, inspired by the Bible? d) Hashmonean (Maccabees’) zealotry and its dangers. Changes in how the Maccabees’ heroism is viewed after the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, of blessed memory e) How should we deal with our complex attitude toward the Maccabees’ heroism? f)  The spinning top (dreidel) and Hanukkah

4) Changes in Tu b’Shvat—From the Beginning of the Fiscal Year to a Zionist Holiday 5)  Changes in Purim and in Our Attitude toward It a)  The source of the rattle (grager) during Purim b)  What Is educational about eating hamentaschen? c)  The Book of Esther as a Zionist manifesto

96

98 99 100 101 104 104 105 106

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6)  Changes in Passover and Their Importance in Education



a)  The re-working of the biblical Omer in our time b)  Changes in the Passover Haggadah c) When and why was the saying “Pour out Your fury upon the nations” added to the Haggadah?

108 109 111 112 115



7)  Changes in Celebration of Shavu’ot



8) In Conclusion: Is There a Contradiction between Tradition and Change?116

  7. Passover as a Reflection of the Jewish Holidays



1) The Educational Goal of the Command “And you shall tell your son” a) The educational contribution of Passover to the educational goal of the command “And you shall tell your son” b) “And you shall tell your son” as part of a three-stage educational process c) The Passover sacrifice (korban Pessach) and the double meaning of korban in Hebrew d)  The double meaning of the Hebrew term Pessach (Passover) e) “And you shall tell your son” (vehigadeta lebincha) on Pessach according to “Teach your son according to his way” f) What is educational in “This poor bread / bread of affliction” (halahma ania)? g)  “What is this?” an innocent question, or a stupid question?  h) “And that which has sustained (v’hee sh’amdah) our forefathers and us” as a source of hope i) What is the purpose of the ten plagues of Egypt? Why is one not enough?

118 118 120 124 126 130 131 135 140 141 143

2) Historical Memory as Shaping Jewish Identity and Belonging: What Is the Difference between History and Historical Memory? 144 a)  Was Moses an historical figure? 145 b)  On the power of historical memory 147



3) The Exodus from Egypt with Its “Signs and Portents” as a Paradigm for All Generations

149



a) What is the difference between the exodus from Egypt and Abraham’s departure from Ur of the Chaldeans?

152

Detailed Contents





b) Why must everyone, in every generation, see himself as if he departed from Egypt? c)  Must one lir’ot “see oneself,” or lehera’ot “show oneself ”? d)  Why isn’t Moses mentioned in the Haggadah?

153 154 155

4) Point of Order—a Suggestion: Strengthening the Haggadah’s Zionist Message

157

a) What is the place of the entrance into the land of Israel in the biblical story of the exodus from Egypt? 159 b)  Four cups of wine? Or five? 160

  8. Lessons from Our Journey through the Jewish Calendar from a Child’s Overview

163



1)  What to Tell Our Children via the Holidays and How

164



2) A Child’s Journey through the Days of Mourning in the Jewish Calendar166



3)  Strengthening the “Happiness” in Our “Happy Holidays!”

174



4)  The Jewish Calendar: Summing Up

174

  9. Epilogue: How Should We Celebrate Independence Day?

176



1)  How Should We Celebrate Independence Day?

178



2) Point of Order—a Suggestion: “Haggadah of Yom Ha’atzma’ut—Independence Day”

179



3)  “Our hope is not yet lost”—“Hatikvah”180

Bibliography

183



A. In English

183



B. In Hebrew

184



Detailed Contents

189



Index of the Jewish Holidays in Jewish Calendar Order

195

193

Index of the Jewish Holidays in Jewish Calendar Order

Rosh Hashana, 49, 88-89, 91, 165-66, 168 Yom Kippur, 6n3, 9-11, 30, 50-54, 89-91, 16668, 174 Sukkot, 8-9, 12-16, 21n26, 30, 45-46, 89, 91, 120, 124, 140, 159n259, 168, 170, 175-76, 178 Hanukkah, 91-92, 94-96, 98, 100, 104, 109, 117 Tu b’Shvat, 101-3, 163, 170 Purim, 8-9, 16-21, 30, 100n139, 104-6, 109, 163, 170 Passover, 3, 8-9, 13-14, 16, 21, 57, 59, 79n111, 86, 91, 107-9, 111, 113-14, 118-22, 12428, 130, 132-36, 138-39, 140n223, 141, 144-45, 148, 152, 155, 157-59, 162-63, 170, 172, 176, 178-80

Holocaust, 33, 49, 55, 70-79, 83-85, 87-88, 113-14, 142, 150, 171-72, 174 Memorial Day for Israel’s fallen («Yizkor»), 58n80, 65, 88n124, 114n163 Independence Day of Israel, 86, 118n172, 159n259, 165, 176-81 Shavu’ot, 8-9, 14, 22-23, 30, 115-16, 120, 170, 172-73 Tish’a b’Av, 8-9, 54-55, 163, 173 Days of Mourning in the Jewish calendar, 3, 29, 30, 63-64, 72-76, 165-66, 170, 171n273, 172, 173n275, 174 Sabbath, 27-30, 33n44, 51, 58-59, 110, 120, 164, 170, 174