The Matzah Mitzvah

A few years ago, I helped put together a seder with the Dalai Lama as chief guest. It was held at the Reform Action Center in Washington, D.C., led by Rabbi David Saperstein, part of a national program called Seders for Tibet. A funny moment came when I was sitting next to His Holiness, and he pointed at the plate of matzah. "Bread!" he said, meaning he wanted me to pass him some. "Matzah?" I replied. "Yes, matzah," he said, adding enthusiastically, "I like matzah."

Which proves, like the old Levy's rye bread ad, you don't have to be Jewish to like matzah. Like His Holiness, I like matzah, too. Yet I never eat it except during Passover.

Years ago, when I grew up in Baltimore and had an annual family seder there, the first course my grandmother served was always hardboiled eggs in salt water. I think the eggs represented spring, and the salt water the tears of the Hebrew slaves. This custom must have come from the Old Country. But what got funny was that every year, my brother-in-law Murph would enthusiastically eat the dish, ask for more, and say the exact same words, "Why don't I eat this all the time!"

So if matzah tastes so good, why don't we eat it all the time? Here's the way I understand it: We are given the mitzvah (commandment) of eating matzah as a way of cultivating a special awareness. And not eating it all the time keeps it special. As a matter of fact, matzah, in its flatness, its lack of leaven, represents "pure awareness," which is given to us as a special gift at Passover. The day before Passover begins, we are not to eat any matzah, in order to prepare our palate spiritually for this great gift.

What is that awareness? It is awareness of God in our lives.

Souls live inside bodies, and the Jewish understanding is that we have bodies in order to transform our experiences and elevate them to the level of soulfulness. The various Jewish holidays take advantage of our having bodies by giving us opportunities to use them spiritually. When we say sweet prayers with our lips and tongues, we are elevating those body parts through our special use of them. When we dance around the synagogue on Simchat Torah, we are turning our legs and arms into prayer. But at Passover, we are given an extraordinary opportunity: We are turning the very act of eating into a mitzvah.

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