The Four Sons of the Haggadah During a Period of Turbulence

Early during the Passover seder, the Haggadah addresses the four questions that are asked by four very different sons. The context behind this brief question-and-answer period is clear; the four sons encompass the different personalities that characterize the Jewish people – wisdom, rebellion, unassuming simplicity, ignorance. At the time the Haggadah was compiled, it was accepted that some measure of these four distinct levels of understanding and readiness to be part of a community could be found within the Jewish DNA, although the discovery of DNA was centuries in the future.

Little in the Haggadah, I suspect, has generated as much discussion and debate over what exactly we’re to understand from these four questions and, more importantly, the intent behind the prescribed responses. In some seders Midrashic literature will most certainly be cited, as the rabbis recognized the need to provide some clarity over what we are reciting and depth that goes beyond the mere words. In other seders, participants will offer their own interpretations and ideas on what should be understood by the four sons. What, for example, is the difference between the question asked by the wise son and the one asked by the wicked son. Some years ago, my brother-in-law expressed his opinion that the son who knew not enough to ask anything was a victim of parental neglect. That, believe me, did not go over very well with my shviga (mother-in-law) or shver (father-in-law).

But what about today? Israel and most of the Jews throughout the diaspora have been struggling for the past several years with the turbulence caused by unprecedented divisiveness. The growing threat of antisemitism, the plight of the hostages being held in Gaza, and the changing paradigm to Israel’s judicial system have all but torn the Jewish community apart. While the questions asked by the four sons in the Haggadah focus on the laws relating to the holiday, one can’t help but wonder how these four different personalities would address the potential harm and destructiveness of this very dangerous situation we now facing. Indeed, it would undoubtedly prove intriguing – even, perhaps, constructive and beneficial – to steer the discussion of the four sons toward the current plight of the Jewish people.

I’m not by any means blind to the risk of introducing modern politics into the traditional nature of the seder. In truth, it makes little sense. Surely, the text, structure and contents of the Haggadah is sufficiently varied and complex to keep just about anyone attentive and interested. International and domestic politics, ideally, should be closeted away with the chametz that was sold off prior to the onset of the holiday.

This, though, can be easier said than done. My cousins and I, baby boomers who grew up during the challenging sixties, had to frequently restrain ourselves from not raising the issues of the day during the seder. We knew, for one thing, it would not be well received. My father was an unyielding democrat who never failed to castigate me for helping bring Ronald Reagan into the White House (twice). But during the seder he was more concerned with the intricacies of the ten plagues that Israel’s Egyptian oppressors had to endure, or offered prizes to the younger children who managed to come up with alternative verses to the “I know one…” seder tune. Current events were never invited to or welcome at the table at my home.

Similarly, my father-in-law, an ardent and unapologetic Kahanist, never once spoke about his personal views and attitudes during the seder. He would, instead, ensure that we understood the intricacies of the discussion that was held by the five rabbis who sat reclining in Bnei Brak, or, when pressed, described the difficulties of observing Pesach in the Mauthausen concentration camp. There is a time and place for political debate; the Pesach seder was not among them.

This year, though, things are different. It’s impossible to overlook the likelihood that political differences within a family can very well be part of this year’s seder tables. And while the discussion will more likely than not wait until the first part of the seder has been completed and the meal is being enjoyed, the episode of the four sons can very easily generate some interesting perspectives of how the boys would be represented in today’s atmosphere of social turmoil and upheaval.

Our wise son might, for example, ask why, with so few Jews in the world, is there so much internal bitterness and hatred. In response, we could point out that all opinions are valid, and that acrimony is both pointless and destructive.

The wicked son would question the logic of engaging in dialog and conversation, asking if it would not be better to alienate ourselves from those with different opinions or ideologies. Him we sternly admonish and answer “God forbid that should ever happen!”

The simple son, confused and bemused, wonders what is going on and why we cannot come to agreements or achieve cooperation. To him we gently explain that even those with infinite wisdom would find it difficult to provide an answer to that question and suggest that the line between love and hate is usually no thicker than a tissue.

And the fourth son, well, he shrugs and keeps his mouth shut. He’s the one who nods politely at what everyone says, and other than a complaint or two about the matzoh balls or gefilte fish, expresses no opinion of his own. To him we play it safe and say nothing.

Not that there isn’t a whole slew of family squabbles during the seder. On the contrary, the evening’s festivities would not be the same without them. Domestic quarrels and petty bickering over internal and often trivial matters is one thing, heated arguments over judicial reform or hostage negotiations is quite another. The latter, I fear, may be unavoidable.

No matter, really. What it comes down to is that the seder will not be interrupted or disrupted by any modernization of what the four sons might, in light of the daily headlines and bulletins, ask and how we decide to answer them. As we have for nearly twenty-five hundred years, what the symbolic foods on the seder plate represent will be explained, we will thankfully acknowledge that any blessing that G-d was good enough to grant us would have been sufficient, and the saga of the lone goat will be cheerfully sung. And we’ll recognize that the special feeling of celebrating Pesach with family and friends is, ultimately, the real answer to the first question asked at the seder: “Why is this night different from all the others?”