After a performance a cantor, trying to impress, tells the crowd that his voice is insured with Lloyds of London for 1 million dollars. A voice from the back of the room says, "so what did you do with the money?"
It is a fascinating law, deduced from this week’s Torah portion. The Torah states:
The Passover offering shall be eaten in one house: nor shall you break a bone of it.
The Passover offering meal must assume a permanent quality—how a royal eats his or her meal. He does not run around with a sandwich in his or her hand; that’s how slaves eat. A king or queen sits in one fixed place, relaxed and composed, and enjoys the feast. They do not begin the meal in one place and continue it in another space. They eat one meal, in one space.
A person who slept amid the Passover offering meal and then woke up, may not resume his meal.
The logic is this. There is a physical relocation and a mental relocation. When I fall asleep in the middle of a meal, then I awake and continue eating, it is considered as though I am eating in a new location—not a new physical location, but a new mental location. It is not any longer a continuum of the first meal; that meal was interrupted and now I am beginning a new meal, following my slumber.
At first glance, it seems like a technical law, even if quite fascinating. In Judaism, G-d is concerned not only with grand cosmic decisions, but also with the intricacies of my life: how I eat, how I sleep, how I conduct my business, how I sit, walk, sleep, and dream. Yet, it still seems a very technical law relating to a Jew who fell asleep in the middle of a Passover Seder.
The Rebbe explored the deeper emotional and historical meaning of the above law.
The Passover story—enslavement followed by liberty—is the eternal story of the Jew. “For not only once did they stand up against us to destroy us, rather in every generation they attempt this again, the latest was on October 7, 2023. And only G-d saves us from their hands,” we state in the Passover Haggadah.
It is fascinating to observe the prestigious place the seder held and continues to hold in the lives of so many Jews. More Jews conduct some form of Passover Seder than attend even High Holiday services. The seder strikes a chord deep within us. Passover is the time we became a people, and the Seder is the time we retell the story of who we are, where we come from, and where we are heading.
We have many holidays in Judaism. However, the one holiday that captures the essence of Jewish identity is Passover. It is the story of who we are. It is when we tell the story of our origin, and our past so that we and our children can appreciate who we are today.
The most powerful quality of our people’s story is the uninterrupted chain of Jewish life and tradition. If you think about it, it is incredible. The same “stale” matzah we ate 3300 years ago the night before we left Egypt, discussed in this week’s portion, we still eat in the 21st century in New York, Moscow, Miami, London, Johannesburg, Melbourne, and Los Angeles. The same ram’s horn we blew two millennia ago is still blown today the world over. The same tzitzit, the same Shabbat, the same Yom Kippur, the same kosher laws, the same Torah then still the same Torah now. We still wrap the same Tefilin, place on our doors the same mezuzah, build the same sukkah, and immerse in the same mikvah.
Friday night, or Shabbat morning, as I lift my cup of wine to make Kiddush—I know that I am doing what my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather did, over thousands of years. I can’t name most of my ancestors going back four generations—but with biology, I know that I carry their genes; and with Judaism, I know that I carry their traditions. As my wife kindles the Shabbat candles, she does exactly what her great-grandmothers have done for millennia. There is almost nothing one who lived 2000 years ago could recognize in today’s world—not the car, not the telephone, not the snacks. But the Shabbat candles he would recognize.
And yet, at some point, the Rebbe said—many of our people fell asleep at the seder table. They found it boring, irrelevant, and monotonous, if not disturbing, and they just checked out mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. They did what Jews do during a boring sermon: you fall asleep.
Rabbi Levy is offered and accepts the role of Rabbi of Hampstead Shul. Three months later, everything is going well for him except one thing - he's noticed that every time he gives a sermon, 60-year-old Melvin, one of his congregants, goes to sleep. Rabbi Levy ignores this because his other congregants always say nice things to him about his sermons as they leave the shul.
But then, some weeks later, as the rabbi gets up to speak, even before he begins the sermon, Melvin is already snoring.
The rabbi was offended. “Melvin, I did not even open my mouth yet. I did not begin the sermon. There is no way you can know it will be boring. Why are you sleeping already? “
To which Melvin responds: Rabbi, I trust you!
At some point in our history, a major part of our people, closed their eyes to the Seder table, to the Passover offering, to the Afikoman—and what they represent. It became meaningless for them; they zoned out of Judaism, and the Jewish story.
And some of us are so good at sleeping, that we can do it with our eyes closed…
However, the Rebbe said that this belief got it all wrong. As Jewish law teaches, as long as some members of the group are awake, even those who are asleep are still part of the same meal, because they are sitting in one company, and when they awake, they can simply resume where they fell asleep, continuing the same feast. This, said the Rebbe, is the truth about Jewish history: There were always the Jews who refused to fall asleep. Their Jewish heartbeat has never ceased pounding. They never forfeited their position at the Seder table.
This is essentially our job. We can’t always be in control about when our brothers and sisters will wake up. Our job is simple: We must make sure that we do not fall asleep. We must keep the Seder meal going. So that when the others in the group wake up, they will automatically be part of the long 3300-year meal which has never been interrupted.
The Rebbe said—this is the depth of this Talmudic law. Every Jew, sooner or later, wakes up from his or her slumber. A Jew is a Jew is a Jew. We may be in a deep sleep, but we can still wake up.
One of the Rebbe's secretaries related:
The Rebbe's workdays were split into two, the days when there were private meetings with people, which would go to the early morning hours, and the days when the Rebbe would leave 770 at 9 or 10 P.M. On the nights that the Rebbe would go home "early", the secretariat wouldn't bother the Rebbe in the house; if people would call with questions for the Rebbe, they would tell them it would have to wait until the next morning.
One day, in the winter of 1966, on a day that the Rebbe went home "early," it was about 3:30 AM, a lady called “770,” and told the secretary who happened to be there very late that night that her baby just fell and was hurt very badly; the doctors are arguing what procedure to follow because of the critical situation of the baby. She needs guidance from the Rebbe on what to do. The Rebbe’s secretary told her that he's sorry but it'll have to wait until the morning, and he'll ask the Rebbe the question the first thing in the morning.
The mother began to plead with the secretary explaining that it's a matter of life and death. She needs an answer now.
The secretary could not resist her pleas. He dialed the Rebbe’s house and his wife, Rebbitzen Chaya Mushka, answered the phone. The Rebbitzin asked: who is this?
The secretary identified himself and then went on to apologize for the chutzpah of calling so late. He explained the situation and the dire pleas of a mother.
The Rebbitzin responded: Why are you apologizing? I am not upset that you called. To the contrary, my husband and I were sent to this world to serve G-d’s children 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. By calling us, you are helping us fulfill our mission in this world!
The secretary submitted the story to the Rebbe, the name of the child, and the dilemma facing the mother. The Rebbe answered and all ended well.
Even as some of us fall asleep, we must know that somebody is waiting for us, awake…
It was, perhaps, why the Rebbe sent out emissaries to the entire world. The Rebbe wanted in each community people who would keep awake, who would not fall asleep. So that when all our brothers wake up, they can just get right back into the story of Judaism.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky
Mary Robinson wrote...