Pesach

"Arami 'Oved 'Avi": Two Meanings, Two Experiences

Aryeh Bernstein, 5763

(based on a devar torah for Parashat Ki Tavo)

This mythic passage, occupying a central role in the Haggadah, comes from Parashat Ki Tavo (Devarim 26:5-10), where every Israelite is commanded to recite this eloquently simple summary of Israelite history upon the occasion of presenting the first fruits of each harvest at the Temple.

I rendered the opening phrase "אֲרַמִּי אֹבֵד אָבִי" with the familiar translation of "A wandering Aramean was my father". This translation, following the explanations of Ibn Ezra, Rashbam, and Sforno, is the simplest understanding of the verse, referring to our ancestor, Ya‘aqov, who sojourned in Aram and spent his entire adult life rootless and wandering. These humble beginnings kick off our history and are a foil for our current rootedness in the land of Israel, whose bounty we have in our hands as we bring the first fruits to the Temple. However, as we know from the seder, the Haggadah records a different interpretation, reading "אֲרַמִּי אֹבֵד אָבִי" as "an Aramean sought to kill my father", that is, Lavan the Aramean, Ya‘aqov's father-and-law, host, and employer, sought to destroy him during Ya‘aqov's 20 difficult years in his household.

The difference in interpretation is possible because of an ambiguity in the word "אֹבֵד". For all you grammar buffs out there, the word can be either an adjectival participle ("wandering") or a transitive verb ("to destroy"). The root .א.ב.ד means roughly to disappear. In modern Hebrew, "אֲנִי הָלַכְתִּי לְאִיבּוּד" means "I got lost", while "לְהִתְאַבֵּד" means "to commit suicide".

I would like to ask two questions. 1) Why do we recite and interpret this passage at the Pesah seder, given that it has nothing to do with Pesah in the Torah? 2) When we do say it at the seder, why do we give it an unconventional interpretation? (Remember: Ibn Ezra, Rashbam, and Sforno, who all interpret the phrase here to mean "A wandering Aramean was my father", were observant Jews who observed the seder every year and knew very well that the Haggadah interprets it differently, as "an Aramean sought to destroy my father". They must, then, consciously think that the Haggadah follows a meaning that is not peshat, the simplest contextual meaning.)

The Mishnah (Pesahim 10:4) teaches that the essence of the seder is for a child to ask whatever she wants, for her parent to answer her by telling the story of the Jewish people, beginning with degradation and concluding with praise, and to seek out meaning by interpreting the entire "Arami ‘oved avi" passage. The liberation from Egypt is the dramatic centerpiece of the eternal narrative of the Jewish people: we were oppressed people and idolators, God came and liberated us from bondage to bring us to Har Sinai to receive the Torah, and to bring us to live as a free and responsible nation in the land of Israel. "Arami ‘oved avi" is a wonderfully compact summary statement of our history and was familiar to average, ancient Israelites, even if they didn't know much Torah, because they recited it ritually every year when bringing their first fruits. Therefore, we recite it at the seder, investigating the meaning in our history by picking apart that text. This is a quintessential Jewish activity: understanding our world by learning Torah.

That is why we learn "Arami ‘oved avi" at the seder. Why do we give it a different interpretation at the seder than we would in other contexts? To answer this, I think we need to consider the goals and risks of the seder and the psychology of the people at the seder. When one is persecuted outright, one naturally develops hatred for one's oppressor. That hatred can be a vital energy source for persevering and overcoming the stronger oppressor. However, when one rises up from persecution, it is all too easy to continue to fan the flames of hatred out of habit, even though it is no longer useful. When the oppressed person goes free, the emotional source of resistance can morph into self-indulgent righteous indignation. We see this, for example, with Jewish attitudes toward Gentiles. Halakhic literature contains many inflammatory statements about Gentiles. Most of these were formulated in the situation of weakness, in which they are a defense mechanism and carry no risk of violence. However, as we become powerful-economically, militarily, or culturally-the same statements can be sticks of dynamite for hurting other people, especially tragic if we have the security to establish favorable terms for relationships with others.

While we were slaves in Egypt, Pharaoh may have been the focus of Israelite attention. A slave must focus on the fact that he is being taken advantage of and that he deserves better. Self-worth and the hope for change must be preserved and that means recognizing one's oppressor as a demon who should be and will be taken down. However, we, the readers of the Haggadah, are free. It is important that Pharaoh not be the focus of the Haggadah, because it would not be useful. We would simmer in our nasty bitterness. Therefore, Pharaoh is basically absent from the Haggadah. However, the inclination to focus on what the bad guys did to us is so great that the Haggadah does not trust that we will get the point just by omitting Pharaoh from center stage. Instead, the Haggadah actively diverts our attention away from him. There is another enemy, one who the Haggadah says is even more dangerous than Pharaoh, and if we are telling our national story, we have to focus on that enemy, and not get distracted with a two-bit enemy like Pharaoh. You know, says the Haggadah, an Aramean once tried to destroy my ancestor and had he succeeded, we would not be here today. That Aramean was not a foreign conqueror or slave master, but our father-in-law, Lavan. Lavan is the enemy within, who wears us down by steering us off the path we want to be on. As Rabbi Shlomo Riskin points out, when Ya‘aqov headed toward Lavan's house, he dreamed of angels ascending and descending a ladder (Bereishit 28:12). After 20 years with Lavan, he dreamed of a money-making scam (31:10-12). Lavan is an enemy we barely recognize, so that we don't even develop the hatred that is so vital to the victim. He is the enemy who tries to destroy us when we think we are free, so he is the enemy who is really important at the seder. The story of the liberation from Egypt tells our own story today: "שֶׁבְּכָל דּוֹר וָדוֹר עוֹמְדִים עָלֵינוּ לְכַלּוֹתֵנוּ, וְהַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא מַצִּילֵנוּ מִיָּדָם" -- "in each and every generation, one rises to destroy us, and The Holy One saves us". Therefore, the memory of being slaves in Egypt should make us think, "Hmm, where are we at risk for destruction today?" When we feel free, we need to explore inside, for the enemy within, the seductive influences that gently steer us away from being the best we can be.

The content and meaning of history depend on the situation in which one remembers it. When offering our thanks for a bountiful harvest on our own land, we highlight the fact that once we were nomads with nothing of our own, and therefore we thank God for being so good to us. When offering our thanks for being granted political freedom, we highlight the fact that we have had influences within us that have steered us off the path of proper use of our freedom, and if we don't seek out the familial Arameans trying to kill our father subtly and slowly, we may, God forbid, stray again.