Redemption starts at home

In anticipation of Pesach 5785, in the context of the Torah portions about the Tabernacle and the Temple services.

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This happened once, when I was young and at the family seder. After the Four Questions were asked, my father began the answer — עבדים היינו — “We were slaves in Egypt.” Suddenly he broke down in tears. Nobody spoke. We waited. After a few minutes, he returned to the text. After seder, I asked my mother about what upset him so — the world, some work difficulty, maybe me? She answered: When he says, “Avadim hayinu,” he means it. He was a slave for years. Now he is home.

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There is a much-discussed issue about the offerings and the Sanctuary.

Was the Avodah, both service and place, an ideal or a concession? Were these institutions necessary in and of their own right, or were they responses to human weakness?

In line with the approach that they were essential is the fact that the Patriarchs gave offerings. There is no hesitation about it in the Torah. G-d’s command to create a sanctuary in which to dwell — as it says ושכנתי בתוכם — I will dwell amongst them –– required offerings in a special place. In exile, words can be a replacement. The prophet Hoshea said, “נשלמה פרים שפתינו” – “Our lips replace the offerings.” But they are not the first choice.

Against the idealizing of the offerings and the Sanctuary, Nathan the prophet told David that G-d neither wanted nor had a need for a specific place. Jeremiah and other prophets recoiled from offerings brought without integrity in an edifice that people thought protected them by virtue of its very existence.

The message? Great institutions are not beyond criticism, and do not guarantee success. Without human accountability and integrity, they and their rituals disappoint, even those ancient ones. Institutions may serve a purpose, certainly, but they are not infallible.

These truths about institutions are accurate in this day and age too. It is our reality. There are numerous examples of how our institutions have disturbing effects on our Judaism. I am not sure that the negative effects are avoidable, but we must acknowledge their existence. Three examples should suffice:

Marriage and divorce. Established Judaism has institutions. This is the case outside of Israel, but is emphatically so in Israel. The Israeli Rabbinate is often incomprehensible to its public, so much so that a large percentage of Israelis (hovering around a third of Jewish marriages) are not willing to get married under its auspices. They resent, reject, and hate the institution. Moreover, as far as these people are concerned, the government-approved rabbinate seems committed to burnishing its identity within the Haredi world by being unfriendly to those not already “in the club.” Over the last 20 years, despite trying to do better, it has not changed its image. Maybe it is too late. Maybe they have not united in dedication to change the image. Whether its policies are right or wrong is beside the point. Bottom line, it is perceived as a fortress of separateness, most interested in keeping everything on its own terms. In the meantime, thousands of marriages are performed in Cyprus and America.

Kashrut, the dietary laws. Harm can be done in the name of doing good. Take the American kashrut establishment as an example. The institutionalization of kashrut itself has consequences. Consider how many Jews have made a blessing on shechita? Even once! This blessing exists to sensitize the eater to the taking of an animal’s life. This should be no pro-forma matter. The rationale for not doing so is that the system worked out to slaughter animals in our day is professional, convenient, and efficient. Better the rabbis in Iowa do it. However, something is lost by institutionalizing kosher meat production this way, in effect distancing us. By not “being there” at the shechitah, we cannot access this sensitivity. The cold and distant institutional process has a very human cost.

Education. We farm our kids out to school from a young age. No matter how excellent a school is, how good an institution, it is a problem if it replaces the parents as primary educators. The Torah commands us, “ושננתם לבניך” — teach your children. In our day, so many parents relegate the primary role as educators to schools, delegating the fostering of knowledge and practice, belief and the building of character. The parents do not themselves fully convey the vitality of their own ideas and commitments in order to motivate the children as they desire. This is not to say that there should not be schools. But schools do not exist to allow parents to abdicate their responsibilities; rather, they augment them. As many parents allow the schools to take the lead instead of themselves, children take on (or reject) the values of the institution and their peers, without the parental frame of reference that they ought to have. I have run schools; I have seen this happen, and I don’t think it is healthy. Parents ought to respect the institutions where they send their children to study. But if they let the institutions replace them, regret and frustration beckon.

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Let me now return to the seder. At the Pesach table, the command of the night — “והגדת לבנך,” “Tell it to your children” — is to educate. To do this, the seder’s format goes personal, instead of going institutional. The seder is held at the table. The Pesach offering itself was taken away from the altar to be eaten with family at home. Even the Mikdash, the Holy Temple, was not to be trusted in the place of the parents at the seder. Even in the Sanctuary of God, nothing could replace the family. It is the heart of Judaism, from Abraham and Sarah and until this day.

I retain optimism about the future, despite the cynicism I have about institutions. If, in the space of an evening that starts in shame and bitter tears, we can move on to wine and matzah, and talk about the redemption of Israel in the bloody world that surrounds us, we can restart redemption at home.

On the streets, there are slogans, not conversation. The conversation leading to a lasting freedom starts at home, around an offering. This year, stay home and understand your freedom. Let the food at your offering teach your children, so that they can continue the family through the future, bringing tears to joy.