A few weeks ago, I spoke about the need to search for chametz before Pesach, and the importance of the search itself as well as ultimately finding what was sought. The night after the search for chametz there’s another search - this time for matzah. Each one of these searches is meaningful to me in a different way, but the juxtaposition of the two remains strange. We search for what we don’t want to find, and then we search for what we need. In the context of the celebration of freedom, I’m reminded of Nietszche’s Zarathustra unimpressed with the free men he meets.
“Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of, and not that thou hast escaped from a yoke. Art thou one ENTITLED to escape from a yoke? Many a one hath cast away his final worth when he hath cast away his servitude. Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly, however, shall thine eye show unto me: free FOR WHAT?”
It’s tempting to associate the search for chametz with the process of liberation from Egypt, and the search for the matzah with the state of being free, and the clarification of the new dedications, relationships and responsibilities that come with being free — finally being able to live life for something greater than survival.
But this model is too neat for real Jewish life, for human life. The escape from the obscurity and confusion in Egypt did not immediately lead to clarity. Maybe we could invoke another model, and say that the 49 days that we count between Pesach and Shavuot, between leaving slavery and accepting the Torah, this was the gradual shift from Freedom-from to Freedom-for. But this too is simplistic; in any case, we are still in Pesach-mode so let’s stay there for now! In the traditional time-line, the Israelite slaves were liberated on the first day of Pesach, but only crossed the sea on the seventh. So where we are now, in between the two, the Israelites are still moving towards the sea. One of the first descriptions we have of this mass movement is the way they were guided:
וַֽי-הוָ֡ה הֹלֵךְ֩ לִפְנֵיהֶ֨ם יוֹמָ֜ם בְּעַמּ֤וּד עָנָן֙ לַנְחֹתָ֣ם הַדֶּ֔רֶךְ וְלַ֛יְלָה בְּעַמּ֥וּד אֵ֖שׁ לְהָאִ֣יר לָהֶ֑ם לָלֶ֖כֶת יוֹמָ֥ם וָלָֽיְלָה ׃ לֹֽא־יָמִ֞ישׁ עַמּ֤וּד הֶֽעָנָן֙ יוֹמָ֔ם וְעַמּ֥וּד הָאֵ֖שׁ לָ֑יְלָה לִפְנֵ֖י הָעָֽם ׃
God went before them in a pillar of cloud by day, to guide them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, that they might travel day and night. The pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night did not depart from before the people. (Exodus 13:21-22)
Usually these pillars are seen as a symbol of clarity and confidence, but this is not necessarily so. As a teacher of mine would say: imagine sitting around a bonfire on a dark night. The flames blind the eyes rather than show the way forward. The same with the pillar of cloud which presumably hid the path ahead too. The people knew that they were being guided, but not where to. Maybe this was part of the cause of their frustrations in the desert: the Torah is filled with a series of complaints and rebellions against God, and calls to return to Egypt. Slavery was at least stable, and freedom was annoyingly unfathomable. But years later, when God speaks through the prophet Jeremiah and describes this time, this very confusion becomes idealised.
הָלֹ֡ךְ וְקָֽרָאתָ֩ בְאָזְנֵ֨י יְרוּשָׁלִַ֜ם לֵאמֹ֗ר כֹּ֚ה אָמַ֣ר יְ—הוָ֔ה זָכַ֤רְתִּי לָךְ֙ חֶ֣סֶד נְעוּרַ֔יִךְ אַהֲבַ֖ת כְּלוּלֹתָ֑יִךְ לֶכְתֵּ֤ךְ אַחֲרַי֙ בַּמִּדְבָּ֔ר בְּאֶ֖רֶץ לֹ֥א זְרוּעָֽה ׃
Thus said the LORD: I remember you: the devotion of your youth, your love like a bride— How you followed Me in the wilderness in a land not sown. (Jeremiah 2:2)
God is nostalgic for that relationship based on trust and searching rather than knowledge and stability. My wife tells me to stop giving drashot about not knowing, and just tell people what to think. She is surely right! but what can I do that on this Shabbat of Pesach, a zwischenzeit with no weekly Torah reading, the custom has become to read the Song of Songs? What is the Song of Songs but an infinite search with no end? Anyone who comes to tell you what the message of the Song of Songs is is telling you a half-truth at most: we don’t know its message, but we are touched by the beauty of the experience. A thousand years ago, Saadia Gaon described the book by saying: “It is a lock whose key has been lost, or a diamond too expensive to purchase.” [Commentary attributed to Rasag, trans. Yosef Kafih, p.26]. I wish I could use this drasha to explain to everyone what the Song of Songs teaches us about our difficult world today - and I’m sure the answer is there, but unfortunately, I’ve lost the key.
Shir Hashirim is an amalgamation of confusion and desire. The first trap in reading it is to search for a narrative, or even characters. Sometimes we simplify and speak of ‘the Lover’ and ‘the Beloved’, but some scholars claim that the book is a composition involving at least six different texts, and others identify thirty-one different love-stories happening at the same time. [More here.] Perhaps there are some scenes which seem to have the lovers together, but the main feeling in the text is that of longing and searching: sometimes in the city, sometimes in the fields, sometimes in the mind. One of the more powerful moments is at the beginning of the fifth chapter, when the Beloved is lying in her bed, and suddenly hears a knock at the door (perhaps in her dream).
אֲנִ֥י יְשֵׁנָ֖ה וְלִבִּ֣י עֵ֑ר ק֣וֹל דּוֹדִ֣י דוֹפֵ֗ק פִּתְחִי־לִ֞י אֲחֹתִ֤י רַעְיָתִי֙ יוֹנָתִ֣י תַמָּתִ֔י שֶׁרֹּאשִׁי֙ נִמְלָא־טָ֔ל קְוֻצּוֹתַ֖י רְסִ֥יסֵי לָֽיְלָה ׃
I sleep, but my heart wakes: hark, my beloved is knocking, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night. (5:2)
But she hesitates for a moment.
פָּשַׁ֙טְתִּי֙ אֶת־כֻּתׇּנְתִּ֔י אֵיכָ֖כָה אֶלְבָּשֶׁ֑נָּה רָחַ֥צְתִּי אֶת־רַגְלַ֖י אֵיכָ֥כָה אֲטַנְּפֵֽם ׃
I had taken off my robe— was I to don it again? I had bathed my feet— was I to soil them again?
That hesitation costs her the encounter with her lover. By the time she decides to open the door, he is no longer there, and she is again on the streets searching for him.
It’s always a question why this book is read during Pesach, at least according to the Ashkenazi custom. Perhaps it has to do with the springtime imagery in the book, and there is also a reference to Pharaoh in one of the poems. But more than anything, it’s the beginning of a relationship with all the doubts and fears of any beginning. It’s a call to seize the moment, not too soon and not too late. Each Pesach, we try to connect to this perspective: trusting in the future without understanding it fully, redefining what we are free from and for, strengthening our relationships with God and with each other.
Shabbat shalom.
Thanks for sharing this Rabbi Josh - I think it is one of your most poignant yet.
We are all searching - for answers, to find ourselves, to seek a new path.
Your teachings help me on my journey.