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Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Shabbat Pesach Seventh Day, Exodus 13:17-15:26,

Numbers 28:9-25

It is a short road from gnawing on the bread of

affliction to suggesting to others "let them eat
cake."
Every year I am amazed with the growing array of kosher for Passover products:
muffins, bagels, pasta, even pizza. This is ha-lahma anya, the bread of affliction?
Even traditional matzah ain't what it used to be, now that you can choose wheat, rye
or spelt matzah. Then, of course, there's shmura matzah, the traditionally watched
and hand-baked item that reflects the bread of poverty in looks but not in price.

Matzah is as elemental a symbol of the staff of life as can be found: just flour and
water, minus the fermentation. We are told that during the Exodus there was no time
to let the bread rise; hence we omit the fermentation or leavening agent. Perhaps
leaving out this one item is another symbol of leaving Egypt behind, since scholars
believe that fermentation was discovered in Egypt making it the birthplace of bread
and beer.

Bread was used to pay the workers' wages in ancient Egypt. Those who toiled
received grain or simple loaves of bread made from flour and water. In contrast, the
rulers dined on bread that contained honey, fruit and nuts. The difference between the
haves and have-nots was abundantly clear in the edifices built for the rulers.
Pharaonic tombs contained food to sustain the occupant in the afterlife. These tombs
contained more wealth and foodstuff than a worker could ever dream of having. What
could be more symbolic of a hardened heart, than the food placed in tombs by a
worker who could never hope to consume such delicacies?

Bread's relationship to wages is found in English is well. Bread used to be a common

slang expression for money, probably derived from the Cockney rhyming slang
expression "bread and honey" which rhymes with "money." Fans of old gangster
movies will recall dialogue where bank robber would demand the "dough."

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While the Torah does remind us that man does not live on bread alone (Deuteronomy
8:3), the Hebrew language appears to have an unusual association with the word for
bread. Lechem, the Hebrew word for bread, is the same root as lochem, to do battle.
What is the common element? Dr Joseph Lewin offers an intriguing possibility:

What can you say about a culture that uses the same root lamed, het, mem) — for
both bread and war, milhama? Do lehem and milhama really come from the same
root? It's a good question, and to answer it one must invoke a third use of the root. It
seems that laham means not only "he did battle" and "he ate bread" but also "he
joined together."

Using this third meaning, Ludwig Koehler, in his 1953 Dictionary of the Hebrew Old
Testament, opines that our root originally had the connotation of "to be closely packed
together" and that that meaning is the common denominator. In war, says Koehler,
soldiers often engage in hand-to-hand combat in close quarters. Voilà for war,
milhama. Bread, he adds, suggesting perhaps that it is considered highly nutritious,
is "compact food." Voilà for bread, lehem.
Joseph Lewin, A Hebrew Lesson (l-h-m), Jewish Heritage Online Magazine

Another connection between bread and battle has nothing to do with grammar and
everything to do with food fights. People go to war over food and sources of food. The
silent film classic Battleship Potemkin begins with a group of sailors rebelling when
they are fed maggot-infested meat. Or think of the words attributed to Marie
Antoinette when told the peasants had no bread: Let them eat cake.

Significant as it may be as a Pesach symbol bread (albeit in its unleavened form) is in

the background on this last Shabbat of the festival. The battle between the God of
Israel and the god of Egypt is the focal point.

The Torah constantly points out that Pharaoh's hard was hardened – he stubbornly
ignored the suffering around him. This is part of the battle between God and Egypt's
ruler.

When the king of Egypt was told that the people had fled, Pharaoh and his courtiers
had a change of heart about the people and said, "What is this we have done,
releasing Israel from our service?" He ordered his chariot and took his men with him;
he took six hundred of his picked chariots, and the rest of the chariots of Egypt, with
officers in all of them. The Lord stiffened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and he
gave chase to the Israelites. As the Israelites were departing defiantly, boldly, the
Egyptians gave chase to them, and all the chariot horses of Pharaoh, his horsemen,

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and his warriors overtook them encamped by the sea, near Pi-hahiroth, before Baal-
zephon.
(Exodus 14:5-9)

Adding to the battle imagery is the fact that our ancestors are armed (Exodus 13:18)
as they make their way out of Egypt and find themselves at the Sea of Reeds with
Pharaoh and a cast of thousands giving chase. We all know how the story ends, we
cross the Sea of Reeds, Pharaoh and his army drown, and we sing a song of victory
to God our Redeemer.

But before we take the plunge a strange thing happens: Pharaoh is not the only one
with a change of heart! Our ancestors saw Pharaoh and his troops approaching and
they too had a change of heart. The text tells us that they thought they had made a
fatal mistake; better to have stayed in Egypt under the yoke of the king. The term
describing Pharaoh's approach is faro hikriv, Pharaoh drew near. The root is k-r-v,
the same word as korban, sacrifice and often used to indicate drawing close to God.
This is the understanding of the Midrash:

What is meant by "Pharaoh drew near"? He brought Israel close to the repentance
they showed. Rabbi Berachiah said: Pharaoh's drawing near was better for Israel than
a hundred fasts and prayers.
Exodus Rabbah 21:5

As if to stress the importance of this point, Itturei Torah, a collection of Hassidic

teachings and Mussar, comments that it takes Pharaoh to bring Israel to repentance.

What is going on here? Pharaoh serves as a reminder of suffering; and that changes
the people's will. They turn to God to find the strength to cross the sea and sing
triumphantly to the God who redeemed them.

Yet at this moment of our great joy, our rabbinic ancestors wanted to make sure that
our hearts would not be hardened and that we would never forget the tragic cost of
this freedom: The countless Egyptians who died in the plagues and at the Sea of
Reeds. To help us remember the lives lost, the Talmudic sages imagined how this
event played out in the heavenly court:

In that hour the ministering angels wished to utter the song of praise before the Holy
One, Who is Blessed, but God rebuked them, saying: My handiwork (the Egyptians) is
drowning in the sea and you want to sing before me!
Talmud, Sanhedrin 39b

Throughout the festival of Pesach there are constant reminders to prevent us from
developing a hardened heart. Remembering the suffering of the Egyptians is the

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reason we spill the drops of wine when recounting the plagues at the Seder; our joy is
diminished by their suffering. For the very same reason we abbreviate the Hallel
(Psalms of Praise) that we sing at services on the last days of Pesach. As we read
this portion at the end of Pesach, we are reminded that our rejoicing must be
tempered.

We were saved at the Sea of Reeds, the symbol par excellence of Redemption. But
our redemption is incomplete. What we lacked when we stepped onto dry land, what
we oftentimes still lack, is the awareness of the suffering of others. Even worse is the
knowledge that others suffer and we do nothing. It is a short road from gnawing on
the bread of affliction to suggesting to others "let them eat cake." It is the path of the
hardened heart.

On the seventh day of Pesach, as we watch the Sea of Reeds recede in the distance,
we know that a long journey still awaits us. Pesach is the beginning of redemption;
this is as far as God takes us. Spiritually, this is as far as God can take us; the rest of
the journey is on our own. Full redemption can only be achieved when we no longer
need to be reminded of the suffering of others. When our heart is open to the
suffering of others, and when we act to correct the injustices causing that pain, then
all of us will truly be redeemed.

Chag sameach,
Shabbat shalom,
MS

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 http://www.jhom.com/topics/bread/hebrew.html

What can you say about a culture that uses the same root — (lamed, het, mem)
— for both bread (lehem, accent on the first syllable) and war,
(milhama)? Do (lehem) and (milhama) really come from the same root?
It's a good question, and to answer it one must invoke a third use of the root. It seems
that (laham) means not only "he did battle" and "he ate bread" but also "he joined
together."

Using this third meaning, Ludwig Koehler, in his

1953 Dictionary of the Hebrew Old Testament,
opines that our root originally had the connotation
of "to be closely packed together" and that that
meaning is the common denominator. In war, says
Koehler, soldiers often engage in hand-to-hand
combat in close quarters. Voilà for war,
(milhama). Bread, he adds, suggesting perhaps that
it is considered highly nutritious, is "compact food." Voilà for bread, (lehem).

In a different way, medieval Hebrew grammarian Rabbi David Kimhi (the RaDak)
offers a metaphorical explanation for the coincidence of bread and war in one root: War
is called (milhama) because "the sword eats up the belligerents on both sides."
The allusion here is quite likely to the Akedah (binding of Isaac) story, in which
Abraham's knife is called a (ma'akhelet), from the word "to eat."

As interesting as these conjunctures may be, they do not begin to exhaust the fascinating
developments of the Hebrew word for bread, (lehem). Adam is banished from the
Garden of Eden with the malediction (be-ze'at apekha tokhal
lehem), "you will eat lehem by the sweat of your brow." Clearly, since bread does not
grow on trees (neither on the Tree of Life nor on the Tree of Knowledge), lehem is used
here in a generic sense, to mean "food." From the blessing (ha-
motsi lehem min ha- arets), "who brings forth bread from the earth," it may be deduced
that the root has both a specific and a generic meaning. After reciting this blessing, one
may eat a piece of bread and then partake of a whole meal.

Our word is found in a number of biblical contexts, such as the (lehem

bikkurim), "bread of first fruits" brought to the Temple on Shavu'ot, and the
(lehem atslut) "bread of laziness," that the proverbial Woman of Valor does not eat. The
expression describing the double portion of manna provided on Fridays for the Israelites
in the desert, (lehem mishneh), accounts for the custom of putting two loaves
of hallah on the Shabbat and festival table. It also serves as a pretext for an interesting
rabbinic explanation for the use of hallah in the first place. According to Rashi,
(mishneh), from the word meaning "two," can also be read as (mishuneh),
"different." Thus, we eat hallah because its taste and smell are different from those of
ordinary, week-day bread.

Not surprisingly, bread is a central theme in Jewish folk wisdom. The Book of Numbers
reminds us that (lo al ha-lehem levaddo yihyeh ha-adam),
"Man does not live on bread alone." The Book of Ecclesiastes observes:
(lo la-hakhamim lehem), loosely translated, "Don't expect to get rich if
you're planning on being a scholar." The Talmud provides a nutritionist's slant when it
observes that while honey is an appropriate food for infants and oil is good for the
elderly, the best food for youths is bread: (la-ne'arim lehem).

Perhaps the greatest piece of Jewish wisdom related to bread is also the most poetic.
The advice: (shelah lahmekha al penei ha-mayim), "Cast your
bread upon the waters." If you perform good deeds randomly, there's a good chance
you'll be rewarded, or see positive results. Jewish folk hero Bontshe the Silent knew
what he was talking about when he taught us that a nice, warm roll —
(lahmaniya) — every morning wouldn't be a bad reward at all.

Dr. Joseph Lowin is Executive Director of the National Center for the
Hebrew Language (NY). He has written extensively (in both popular
and scholarly formats) on Jewish narrative, modern Jewish literature,
and Hebrew language. His most recent book is Hebrewspeak: An
Insider's Guide to the Way Jews Think (Jason Aronson, 1995).