A Journey Round the Seder Plate
The whole of life is on the Seder Plate, from the greens of spring to the bone of the sacrificial lamb and the egg for the full circle of birth and death. As we begin to prepare the symbols which occupy it, we take you on a journey round the Seder plate – not forgetting the most important symbolic food, the Matzah.
The Matzah – By Oliver Joseph
The preparation of the Mazah begins before our freedom comes. Before even the last plague had arrived, the Israelites prepared the dough for the Matzah in Egypt, ‘טֶרֶם יֶחְמָץ’, before it had a chance to rise. Before we lay our tables before Seder night, we too have already bought or baked our Matzah.
This is the bread of our enslavement and our freedom; this bread is a bridge between these two worlds. Perhaps that is why Yeshiah di Trani, a 13th Century Italian Talmudist, understands the words ‘Lechem Oni’, bread of poverty, as bread upon which we answer questions (‘Oni’, poverty also holds the word ‘Oneh’, to answer). Matzah is both the bread of our poverty and the bread of our rejoicing; it holds both energies.
When we sit at the Passover table, we are instructed to begin the Passover Seder ‘as if we too were slaves in Egypt’. We experience pain and suffering; we ask questions about slavery past and present. Later, as the evening continues, we will offer songs of celebrations and we will feast. It is not simple both to celebrate our freedom and simultaneously live our enslavement. But on this feast of Matzot we take all of the symbols of Seder, the Matzah included, and ask questions bridging worlds, enabling movement from enslavement to freedom, from sadness to rejoicing, for us and for the world.
The Karpas, Maror and Charoset – by Jonathan Wittenberg
Karpas can be parsley, celery, potatoes, watercress, any vegetable over which we bless God for ‘creating the fruit of the earth’. When I asked my teacher, Rabbi Louis Jacobs, ‘Why Karpas?’ he answered, ‘So that people should ask, “Why Karpas?” It’s there to provoke questions.’ For me this year Karpas represents hope from the earth. The Torah calls Pesach Chag Ha’Aviv, the Festival of Spring. Karpas speak of tiny green leaves as they first pierce the soil, fair weather, a healthy climate round the globe, planting, rewilding, love of the land.
Maror, in contrast, is bitter. The very word is a generic term for bitterness. The Mishnah discusses what herbs are sufficiently unpleasant that they may be eaten as maror. Meanwhile, Jewish geography has determined that we use what’s local, usually horseradish in northern countries. Maror represents the misery of enslavement. This year it will express for me how we’ve enslaved the earth, made ourselves relentless masters of the land, degraded the soil – perhaps unwittingly -, dispossessed many people who for generations eked a subsistence living out of dry lands, and decimated wildlife.
Charoset is the Jewish food of love. Apples, figs, dates, grapes, nuts, wine, cinnamon – according to the Talmud and its commentators any fruit or spice may be used which is mentioned in the Bible’s wonderful love poem, the Song of Songs (read at the end of Pesach). This year my Charoset will taste of love of the earth: almond-blossom, apple-blossom, dawn sun across orchards, the scent of fields after rain. It will remind me to join with those who love this earth and strive to protect it for our children’s children, so that we will be able to answer with integrity when they ask ‘Mah Zot! What have you done to our world?’
The Egg and Bone – by Zahavit Shalev
Halachist Rabbi David Golinkin of the Schechter Institute in Jerusalem describes the long history of the egg and the shankbone on the seder plate. Originally, in Mishnaic times, a festive meal meant at least two cooked dishes. These were stand-ins for the original Paschal feast – a barbecued lamb. In the course of Talmudic discussions, these dishes came to be seen as symbolically representing the Pesach and Chagigah sacrifices brought on Pesach in Temple times.
In Talmudic times the two cooked foods became standardised as the shank-bone and the egg, in part because they seemed to make sense: the shank-bone clearly stands for the paschal lamb of the original Passover, while the egg is an easily accessible food, and also has great symbolism for a spring time festival!
The burning question we are left with then is this: are these foods symbols to be looked at or ritual foods to be ingested? It’s a great conundrum to ponder and absolutely encapsulates the dynamic of the seder. On the one hand we want a symbol – something to look at that is exactly the same as it was last year and for generations past. On the other, we want to participate in a dynamic and performative ritual – one regularly recreated – in which we reinvent and internalise (by eating!) the Exodus anew every year.
Of course, these items (and their vegan or vegetarian substitutes) do both. As Rabbi Golinkin concludes: whether we eat or gaze at the two cooked dishes on the seder plate, may they help us re-enact the Exodus from Egypt and fulfil the mitzvah of v’higgadeta l’vinkha, “You shall tell your child on that day, saying: It is because of what the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt” (Exodus 13:8).
We all wish everyone a Chag Sameach