Chocolate Covered Suffering
Ha lachma anya - this is the bread of our affliction.
This is the bread our ancestors ate when they came out of the
land of Egypt. What is the reason for this unleavened bread?
The haggadah says there was not enough time for our ancestors’
dough to become leavened before the Holy One was revealed to
them. The Torah says ‘They baked the dough which they
had brought out from Egypt into cakes of unleavened bread, for
it had not yet risen, because the Egyptians drove them out and
they were not allowed to wait, so they could not prepare a supply
of food for themselves.
This is matzah. This is the symbol of Pesach. Never mind the
bitter herbs, the parsley and the salt water which are a feature
of our seder celebrations for one or two nights of Pesach only;
here is the one which lasts and has its effect for the full
seven days of the festival. And what an effect. It gets stuck
between our teeth, it gets wedged in our gums, it has bizarre
effects on our digestive system. This is the bread of our affliction,
the bread of our suffering. And boy, do we suffer.
Every religion has special occasions, festivals, with which
to commemorate events or times of significance. Each of these
festivals has symbols, to remind its followers of their connection
with particular historical events or of religious duties. Our
Passover seder is filled with such symbols and we had our annual
encounter with these symbols last night. Along with the theme
of suffering, several of those symbols are specifically associated
with the fact that this is a Springtime festival: the lamb,
the parsley - a green herb - and the egg. The egg is a symbol
of the cycle of life, a symbol which predates its presence on
our seder table by perhaps as much as several thousand years.
Ever since human beings first became aware of the cycle of the
seasons and the cycle of life and their place within it, the
egg has always been seen as representing and demonstrating the
permanence and continuity of nature.
Springtime is a crucial time of year for all of humanity as
a time of rebirth. So it is hardly surprising that the egg should
also be a feature of the festivals celebrated in other religions
at this season - most notably Christianity. But the eggs which
we see in shops and supermarkets are very different to the hard-boiled,
partially roasted one which sat on our seder plates last night
reminding us of the Spring festival offering in the Temple.
This powerful symbol, the one we instantly associate with this
time of year, comes in chocolate, wrapped in brightly coloured
foil, presented in tantalisingly packaged boxes and filled with
even more chocolate.
Now I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that
the eating of chocolate is a pleasant experience. The appearance
of brightly wrapped eggs formed from chocolate in the weeks
leading up to Easter reflects our Christian cousins’ anticipation
of the celebration of Easter Sunday. So although we share the
symbol of the egg to remind us of the Spring, the way in which
the egg is presented and consumed reflects a world of difference.
Our Christian neighbours enjoy chocolate covered eggs of celebration
while we quietly munch our hard-boiled eggs, pushing them disconsolately
around bowls of salted water. Perhaps we shall look jealously
at these brightly packaged chocolate eggs as we visit our supermarket
to replenish our supply of matzah in the next few days to come.
But such delights are not for us to enjoy - at least, not at
this time of year. Though our egg also reminds us of Spring,
the salt water which surrounds it recalls the tears of our ancestors
as they toiled under Egyptian rule. Our unleavened bread is
a further symbol of that suffering - and it really makes us
suffer. We’ve got a whole seven days of it ahead of us;
a week of all those delights I mentioned before: sore gums and
a seriously disrupted digestion. Now that’s what I call
suffering.
And the purpose of this suffering? To remind us of our history,
to remind us that our religion has its roots in pain and suffering.
Our ancestors were slaves in Egypt - the purpose of those symbols
last night was to remind us of that. The most vital, most telling
aspect of our history was the moment when that slavery was turned
to freedom. It gave birth to our people’s separate identity,
that distinctness which we have been charged to maintain and
keep alive for all generations.
And the message of that identity, the purpose of that faith
was a simple one. Remember that you were slaves in Egypt. You
know what it was like because you were there. Remember it, be
grateful for the fact that you don’t suffer it any more
and be sure not to do it to anyone else. And, in order to be
able to remember it, keep a festival every year at the time
your ancestors achieved their freedom. And mark this festival
by eating a particular type of bread - the most basic food substance
of humanity - which will remind you of how slaves suffer. Ha
lachma anya -this is the bread of our affliction. We’re
not supposed to enjoy it. It’s supposed to make us suffer
so we can remember the suffering of our ancestors.
Then, into our modern, sanitised, safe lives comes a peculiar
product. Into our lives which are devoid of suffering, our lives
which have no knowledge of slavery or of what it means to be
a refugee, wandering without a home, comes a special Pesach
treat. Perhaps we might buy it for our children, maybe for ourselves.
It’s available in the delicatessens and perhaps even in
the supermarkets; a little novelty. It fits precisely into an
environment which, at this time of year, seems to be filled
with chocolate. Perhaps the idea even came from that environment,
who knows? It’s happened before. And what is the idea,
this new product? It’s chocolate covered matzah. Sheets
of unleavened bread coated in tasty layers of milk chocolate.
Yummy.
But what have we done? Here it is - our annual opportunity to
remember our ancestors’ suffering; our yearly duty to
remind ourselves of the terrors of slavery and our duty to work
to remove all suffering in the world by seeking the liberty
of all who are oppressed as were our ancestors. Here is the
symbol which we eat, whose purpose is to make us think of that
suffering by giving us a hint of discomfort, a tiny taste of
what such suffering might be like. And what do we do with it?
We cover it in chocolate. Very nice, very enjoyable. But it
diverts us completely from the purpose of the festival and its
symbols. This means, in the end, that we fail fully to understand
or appreciate the purpose of the symbolism. What we have is
chocolate covered suffering.
Our ancestors did not have their suffering and their slavery
sweetened in any way. Labouring under the hot sun with cruel
taskmasters waiting to use their whips at the first sign of
any slacking had no sense of being sweet. The suffering of refugees,
of victims of ethnic cleansing, of villages experiencing famine
or drought cannot be covered with something to take away the
horror. The purpose of this festival of Pesach is to remind
us of the suffering of our fellow human beings; our ancestors
in the past and our human brothers and sisters all over the
world. This suffering is epitomised in the eating of unleavened
bread. It reminds us of their pain and of our God-given duty
to free the world from all such pain.
The purpose of religious symbols is to bring to mind ancient
events and their significance. Judaism is particularly rich
with its symbolism and ritual. It provides us with plenty of
opportunity to celebrate - occasions which are marked with symbols
of joy - Chanukkah for example with its sugary doughnuts, Rosh
ha-Shanah with the sweetness of the apple and honey. These are
meant to make us feel good. Matzah is not. Ha lachma anya. This
is the bread of our affliction. It reminds us of slavery, of
oppression, of human cruelty and brutality. It calls to us and
demands that we do whatever we can to rid the world of such
terrible things - their causes and their consequences. These
things are not sweet, they are not covered in chocolate. They
are hard and painful - just like matzah. So when we eat our
matzah over the next seven days let us remember this and call
it to mind.
May our Passover be filled with sore gums and digestive discomfort.
May this pain remind us of the suffering of others and our duty
to help alleviate this suffering. May our matzah be hard and
dry and tasteless and not covered in chocolate. Then may we
learn that there is no such thing as chocolate covered suffering;
that symbolic pain represents genuine pain and that while such
pain exists in the world, none of us is truly free. This is
the message of Passover, this is the purpose of its symbols.
May we heed its message well.
Rabbi Pete Tobias
Glasgow New Synagogue
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