Start Here: How to Properly Prepare for Pesach

by Ner Tamid | Mar 18, 2025 | Sermons

Have you started planning for Pesach yet? Are you cleaning? Cooking? Making a menu? Pulling your hair out?

If we were living in ancient Egypt at the time of Yetzias Mitzrayim, the Exodus, we would be chilling right now. Really. We weren’t working for the Egyptians – they had given up on us a few months prior. We did not yet know if and when we were leaving. I honestly don’t know what they were doing. Maybe they were getting camel rides or tours of the pyramids.

We read this morning (from the second Torah) that the Jewish People were introduced to the holiday of Pesach only fourteen days before it took place. That means that Pesach preparation would not start until this upcoming Thursday, Rosh Chodesh Nissan. You probably think that those two weeks were crazy; frenetic activity, getting ready for the very first Pesach seder, and even more so, getting ready to leave Egypt. But I don’t think it was as busy as you imagine.

Were the Jewish People spending their time cleaning their homes from chameitz?

No. The average size of an Egyptian home in 2000 BCE was about the size of a two-car garage. They were far more economical with their food. Hardly anything went to waste. How long would it take you to clean an already fairly clean two-car garage? An hour? Maybe.

Were they cooking?

No. They were only eating one meal at home and the main course, the lamb, was prepared on the eve of Pesach.

Were they packing?

Not really. Most Egyptians in that era, even wealthy ones, had almost no furniture. Poor Egyptians did not use dishes. Eating utensils did not exist. (That’s what we have fingers for.) They typically had a mortar, a pestle, a pot, a pan, and a bowl for storing things.

In terms of clothing, kids under six, did not wear any clothing… The adults had one pair of clothing – which they were wearing. So, when the Jewish People left Egypt there were no U-hauls. It probably took them fifteen minutes to pack.

For those keeping track, we are up to hour and fifteen minutes of prep time.

Perhaps they were borrowing objects from their neighbors, as they were instructed to do. Let’s give them a day to do that.

The men were getting circumcised. I assume they needed a few days to recover.

So, if we were being generous with their time, they needed at most a week to prepare for Pesach. And if that’s so, if my math and history are correct, the Jewish People really had oodles of time at their disposal, so why did G-d inform them about Pesach two weeks before it started? What were the Jewish People supposed to be doing during that time? Was He trying to just get us anxious?! What was that time for?

Clearly, no one was listening to the Torah reading today. Because the answer is right there. G-d says, “Hachodesh hazeh lachem, this month is the first month of the Jewish year.” And then, “On the tenth of the month, you should go a get a lamb to slaughter.” It’s quite clear that the reason G-d tells the Jewish People about Pesach fourteen days before it happens is for one reason and one reason only – to give them a heads up about the Pascal Lamb.

Now of course, this doesn’t fully answer our question. If they were not going to take the lamb until the tenth of the month, and not going to roast the lamb until the 14^th of the month, why do they need to know about this Mitzvah two weeks in advance?

So, if you were listening to the Torah reading… you would know that there is a law about the Korban Pesach – lo sosiru mimenu ad boker, there were to be no leftovers. The entire lamb had to be eaten on the night of Pesach.

How many people could a lamb feed?

According to our good friends at bigroast.com, a regular sized lamb can feed… 45 people!

So, if you needed to make sure that there were no leftovers, and assuming your family size was let’s just say, 8 people, you needed to invite guests. A lot of guests.

I believe the extra week was given to the Jewish People for this reason alone; to invite guests for Pesach.

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch suggests that this is precisely why we were instructed to make sure there were no leftovers; to ensure that the Pesach Seder would not be experienced alone. The true sign of freedom is a person or a family who are not simply focused on their own survival and wellbeing. The true sign of freedom is a person or a family who care about others.

This is why we begin the Seder with an invitation to guests. How do we begin the section of Maggid? “Ha lachma anya, this is the bread of affliction, kol dichfin, yeisi v’yechol, whoever is hungry, come and eat.”

It’s a bizarre passage. Who exactly are we inviting when we say those words? Our friends and family are already at the table with us when it’s said.

The Avudraham, a 14^th century Spanish Torah scholar, relates that it was a genuine invitation. In his time, people would actually open their doors at the beginning of the seder and call out those words – “If you’re hungry, come and join me.” People in need would be waiting in the streets for these invitations. This practice was a perpetuation of the very first Pesach seder, in which no one ate alone, every person was accounted for. Though we no longer do this, by saying those words at the beginning of the seder, we remind ourselves of this beautiful custom. It’s so central to the night, that it is the opening passage in the section of Maggid. It’s to remind us that sharing, caring, ensuring that we are not just focused on ourselves is the primary feature of a free and dignified person.

The most shocking and devastating section in the book, Night, by Elie Wiesel, describes a German throwing a scrap of bread to a group of starving Jews. Wiesel relates how the Jews, who haven’t eaten for days start fighting viciously over the tiny piece of food. One man is victorious; he proudly holds up the crust of bread after wrestling it away from everyone else. And then he’s pounced upon by another starving man, who beats him, and ultimately beats him to death. Wiesel drily comments that it was a son who killed his own father for a piece of bread.

That’s what starvation does to a person. It turns them into an animal. That’s what a slavery does to a person. They become entirely focused on survival and self-preservation.

And so, on the weeks leading up to Pesach, the Jewish People were told, you are no longer slaves; you are free. You are no longer focused only on survival; you are dignified. You are no longer subject to the rules of our base inclinations; you are a master of your own destiny. You are no longer a taker; you are a giver.

For two weeks the Jewish People went around, checking in on their neighbors, especially those who didn’t have a family of their own, or those who didn’t have an intact family, or those who had less than the other Jews, and invited them to the Pesach seder.

Maybe they were turned down. But I hope that didn’t dissuade them. Perhaps they offered to walk near them as they travelled into the frightening desert to provide some moral support. Perhaps they made a mental note to check in with them at some later time in the year knowing that it wasn’t only Pesach that these people struggled. Perhaps they invited them to a different meal at a different time or take them out for the Egyptian equivalent of a coffee. There are many ways to make sure that those who are lonely feel a little less alone.

I imagine that stuffing 45 people into a home the size of a two-car garage was not so comfortable. Maybe some of the guests made them a little uncomfortable. But freedom is not always comfortable. Doing the right thing is not always comfortable.

We have two weeks and five days to prepare for Pesach – that’s five more days than our ancestors. Cleaning our homes from chameitz is important. Having a delicious Pesach menu is great. But real freedom, the freedom that our ancestors tasted in the days leading up to Pesach, is the freedom to share. Not everyone can have 45 people at their seder. But every single one of us can and must make sure that no one, no one at all, is left feeling alone.

The Fight Against Amaleik: No More Metaphors

by Ner Tamid | Mar 9, 2025 | Sermons

As many of you know I spent the past week in Israel participating in Voice of the People, an initiative by President Herzog to tackle the biggest issues facing the Jewish People. My team was tasked with combatting antisemitism. At one point in our discussions I shared that it would be ridiculous to conceptualize antisemitism only through a modern lens. We have been grappling and overcoming antisemitism since before we were a nation, and it would be critical to spend some time thinking about how our tradition dealt with this ancient hate.

The most basic text, of course, is what we read this morning, a section known as Parshas Zachor. It is the story of an evil nation that attacked us for no reason. We read how we are commanded to remember to fight them in every generation.

However, already in the times of the Talmud, this Mitzvah was reinterpreted to be understood metaphorically. The battle against Amaleik was seen not as an evil antisemitic nation bent on our destruction but as an idea; to fight the evil within ourselves, or to overcome doubt, or to live a life of religious fervor, and numerous other interpretations.

This shift to metaphor is easy to understand. For starters, we had no power; no army, no strength, and no voice to fight back against those who tried to kill us. But it wasn’t just a practical reason we shifted to metaphor, it was philosophical. Our prophets, most specifically Isaiah, taught us a concept called peace. As historian Paul Johnson noted, the Jewish People introduced to the world the notion that peace is not a last resort, but rather, the highest ideal, and that it should be pursued from a place of strength.

And so, whenever we could, we tried seeing the possibility of peace in everyone around us. Whether it was King Shaul who chose to let some of the Amaleikim live, whether it was Western Jews who felt uncomfortable with the notion of an evil nation that needed to be destroyed – something that sounded awfully genocidal, whether it was my great-grandparents hoping that Hitler was exaggerating, or whether it was the Israeli government who allowed themselves to believe that Hamas was not interested in our destruction. Amaleik, in this naïve mindset, came to symbolize a spiritual fight for perhaps more Torah or greater unity, but as best as possible, we shifted away from thinking of Amaleik as a real enemy that needed to be destroyed.

Things are starting to change. We’ve started to shift away from metaphor. In Israel, even the most left-leaning (mainstream) politicians have given up, for now, on a two-state solution; they will not tolerate a Hamas-led government in the east and no longer have any faith in those in charge to our west. When we’ve witnessed how a nation is willing to give up their relative comfort for the sake of destroying our people, when we’ve witnessed a nation that does not fight against soldiers, but fights against infants, then the Purim mask is removed and Amaleik is no longer seen as a metaphor.

And yet, some habits die hard. In some ways, even the State of Israel is still living in metaphor la-la land. One of the people we had an opportunity to speak with this past week was Michal Cotler-Wunsh, Israel’s Special Envoy to combat antisemitism. She lamented the fact that the State of Israel has invested almost nothing to combat international antisemitism. While they are sinking billions of dollars to fight enemies in the region, they have barely spent a penny fighting global antisemitism. She asked the government to dedicate the equivalent of one fighter jet to fighting antisemitism and they laughed at her. In doing so, they are ignoring the dangers of the college students and professors, the Hollywood actors and journalists, the podcasters and influencers, who are bashing Israel at every turn. To ignore them by dismissing their rhetoric as just words, is just as naïve as dismissing the buildup of Hamas over the past decade.

As we know from our tradition, words lead to actions. “Vayo’rei’u osanu haMitzrim,” a line from the Haggadah, is loosely translated as they did evil to us. But Rav Soloveitchik observes that a more accurate translation is that they made us out to be evil. Once you demonize, once you paint the Jewish People as being worthy of destruction, then the jump to concentration camps and death camps, to mass rape and kidnapping children, is quite small. As Michal put it: “We are inching closer and closer to a time in which if Iran were to annihilate the Jewish People, the international community would say, todah, thank you.”

I am by nature a peace-loving person who naturally sees good in others, and it’s to people like me that the Torah demands of us to stop allowing evil to hide behind metaphors. But rather, to see the evil around us and acknowledge it for what it is. Those who do not believe Israel should exist are not just misguided, it is not just a different opinion, the antisemitism we are seeing around us is evil and it is lethal. Milchama laShem ba’Amaleik midor dor. There is “a war against Amaleik in every generation.”

I am not suggesting we kill those who deserve to be called Amaleik. I am suggesting we stop dancing around the word evil. The commandment to read Parshas Zachor reminds us that it exists. No metaphors needed.

***

Now I know this may sound shocking but my group and I did not “solve” antisemitism in the few days we spent together. (The purpose of the week was to bond, to scratch the surface of the topic in person, and then we will be meeting regularly online over the next two years to try and tackle at least one facet of antisemitism.) But despite us not solving anything, I did learn something from all of them, which in its own way is the first step to combatting antisemitism, a lesson that takes us back to the very first battle against our eternal enemy.

The Torah tells us that in our fight against Amaleik, Moshe stood atop a mountain and lifted his hands up high. In no other Biblical war, do we find this strange action. It was clearly critical because the Torah elaborates and tells us that when he got tired, he did not stop. No matter what, he held his hands up high.

There are many metaphorical explanations, but we do not need any metaphors. The message is so abundantly clear. Yes, we fought, yes, we prayed, but Moshe needed to teach the Jewish People an eternal answer for times when we cannot and should not kill, for times when we may not have the ability to pray. Amaleik attacked those who were weak. Hanecheshalim b’cha. So Moshe, the 80-year-old leader of the Jewish People lifted his hands for all to see to convey one simple and powerful message – we are not weak. We are proud. That’s how we fight antisemitism. That’s how we win.

I had a conversation at the conference with a woman who described her experiences in high school. She was the only Jew in a school made up of mostly Muslims and they harassed her. Day in and day out, high school for this young woman, was miserable. She lamented the fact that there was no educational program to help teach the students about antisemitism, she was upset that there was no system that punished those who bullied her. It was terribly sad listening to her story.

Speaking to her reminded me of a time that I got bullied in elementary school. As you may have noticed I am not so tall. There was this one boy in my 3^rd grade class who made it his business to constantly remind me of how short I was. As you can imagine, I was devastated. I was too embarrassed to tell my parents but my mother noticed that something was wrong and so I told her.  Nowadays if a child is being bullied, the parent calls the school, and the school is expected to intervene. Thankfully for me, this was not the case in the early 90’s, and instead I learned one of the most important lessons of my life.

My mother asked me if the bully was right; should I be embarrassed that I am short? Is there something wrong with me that I am short? Of course, the answer was no. Who made you short, my mother asked me. “G-d?” I sheepishly said. My mother nodded. “Yes, exactly, and G-d thinks it’s just fine that you are that size. So next time this guy calls you short, you tell him to complain to the One who made you that way.”

Now you have to understand, in my very yeshivish elementary school this was the ultimate comeback. And so it was. The next time he called me short, I replied, “Go tell that to the One who made me that way.” (Mike drop)

I was never bullied again.

You see, bullying, like antisemitism, is a power dynamic. The bullies put others down to lift themselves up; now they’re in control. But the second the one who is bullied is confident in who they are, the second the one who is bullied is not fazed by any criticism because they know the truth, the power dynamic of the bully and bullied is shattered.

That’s what I meant when I said that my team has already accomplished a lot in the fight against antisemitism, against Amaleik. Whether it’s the student in Harvard who doesn’t shy away from his Israeli identity. Whether it’s the gay CEO who lost his allies but is the proudest of Jews. Whether it’s the woman in middle of no-Jew Florida who is organizing trips of students to learn more about their heritage. Or whether it’s the liberal West Coaster who decided to start wearing a Magen Dovid necklace even though his support of Israel has lost him so many of his friends.

Moshe held his hands up high. We need to do the same. To not be apologetic, but to be proud of our heritage. To not be so enamored by the Western world, but to be deeply, deeply, deeply knowledgeable of the Torah. To not be scared, but to hold our Jewish heads high.

***

I arrived in Newark airport Friday morning. I usually find a quiet corner to put on my talis and tefillin; I daven, when in public, without shuckling, to not draw even more attention to myself. But not yesterday. I davened in a public space, swaying like I sway at Ner Tamid, davening with my head held high. Because we are so done with metaphors.