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sermon: Shabbat HaGadol
The book of Exodus gave us a detailed description of the mishkan, its furnishings and utensils, and the garments that we now see being used. We might wonder at the level of detail -- does God need all of this? No, we generally answer, the mishkan is for Israel, not for God.
So, too, these priestly garments are for Israel more than for God. But I think there is another layer; in addition to being for the people, the garments are for the priests themselves. They mark a change of status, from ordinary Israelites to leaders responsible for maintaining Israel's relationship with God. The man who built a physical object to worship, the golden calf, might need a physical, tangible connection to God.
Ritual objects are not just for the priests and ancient Israel. We relate to God through physical objects too; for example, many of us wear talitot not because we feel commanded but because they help us focus on God. A kippah helps us remember the God who is above us. A piece of jewelry reminds us continually that we are Jews. We use many such items to connect to God.
But the priestly garments were not just connections to God. The parsha describes an investiture in which the garments play a central role; donning the garments and going through the ritual transforms Aharon and his sons into priests, not just in the eyes of the people but in their own eyes as well. Our own ritual garments can also have a transformative effect, changing us internally, if we let them.
This week we will all gather to retell the story of our people's transformation from slaves to free people. We are to see ourselves in the story; this is about us, not them. We are to experience this transformation from slavery to freedom, as a people and individually.
Several years ago I had a particularly powerful Pesach experience. I was then a gentile who had been to a few seders with a (by then ex-) boyfriend, and on the afternoon before the first seder, I realized that I missed not having a place to go. I mustered some courage and schmoozed my way into a Hillel seder -- and found a connection there. It couldn't be to the people; I'd never seen any of them before. I went home more than a little confused, and the next day I began to read books about Judaism. At Shavuot I was surprised to see that I counted myself among the "we" who stood at Sinai. Without seeking it out, I had undergone a transformation.
Pesach is a ritual designed to help us connect with God and with our history. We, not they, came out of Egypt; we, not they, stood at Sinai and entered a covenant with God. If we take the time to engage with the ritual, we can transform ourselves to be more attuned to God's call. The reading of the haggadah, bubbe's seder plate, zayde's kiddush cup -- all are ritual "garments" that can help us in that transformation.
Our connection with God does not end with the eating of the afikoman. Our challenge is not only to allow ourselves to be transformed, but to then carry that forward into the days, weeks, and months that follow. Every time we put on a talit or kippah or use some other ritual object, we should strive to remember why we're doing all of this. When Aharon and his sons put on their priestly garments it was for a specific purpose; may we, too, remember the specific purposes behind our rituals.
Time: approximately 4 minutes.
I felt my actual delivery was a little rough -- too much "obviously reading from script" and not enough eye contact, etc -- but I got a lot more compliments on this one than the last few. Hmm. (Ok, the conclusion that I can write better than I can speak is obvious but not terribly helpful.)
One person asked me if I intended to alude to the seder's rasha, the wicked child who asks "what is this to you" (instead of "to us"). No, that hadn't occurred to me at all, but what an excellent suggestion. If I ever have occasion to revise and reuse this, I'll work that in.
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One question: what is afikoman? I have a general idea from context, but I'm curious about the literal. :-)
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The afikoman is the last bit of matzah that we eat at the seder. Aside from the final two cups of wine, it's the last thing we eat -- so in a way, the bread of aflliction is dessert. :-) Earlier in the seder we break a matzah, setting half aside for later; that half becomes the afikoman. There are various explanations for this, ranging from the messianic -- our redemption isn't yet complete so we break that matzah and don't eat it with the rest -- to the historical -- slaves never knew where their next meal was coming from so when they got food they always set some aside.