Where have all the Children Gone
Rabbi Yosef Benarroch

When I think of the holiday of Pesah, two thoughts come to mind. The first is paradox and the second is children. One need not look too far to see the central role that children play on Pesah. The Haggadah is replete with references to children, from the recitation of "Mah Nishtanah" by the youngest child to the four sons. The Sedder night, one could say, is the night of children. I will never forget the words of my Rabbi when I studied in Yeshiva. My greatest wish to be invited to his Sedder so that I could hear his deep pearls of wisdom. I mustered the necessary chutzpah to ask for an invitation. He replied, "we would be happy to have you at our Sedder but I must tell you one thing. Don't expect to hear great philosophical insights at my Sedder. On this night I am completely dedicated to my children, it is their words you will hear". I heard those words over twenty years ago. I am reminded of them every year as Pesah approaches because indeed Pesah is the holiday of children.

Pesah is also a holiday of paradoxes. The Sedder is filled with them. On the one hand we are obligated to recline when we drink the four cups of wine and when we eat the Matza. The reason for reclining is because this is a show of freedom and nobility, which we are to feel on this evening. Yet reclining was a Roman custom; it was the way they ate. How ironic that on the night we must feel freedom we borrow a custom from those who oppressed us and stole our freedom.

Even the eating of Matzah is filled with paradox. On the one hand we eat Matzah to remind us of the freedom of our ancestors from Egypt. Yet Matzah is very clearly defined as the bread of our affliction. It is the food of the poor. How paradoxical it is that to celebrate our freedom we eat the food of the poor. Is bread not the food of the free and the noble? If Pesah is the holiday of our freedom where each person is to feel like a king or queen, then would it not have made more sense to eat a nice loaf of freshly baked gourmet bread?

Indeed Pesah is a holiday filled with paradox. Perhaps the greatest paradox of all is the obligation to drink the four cups of wine. On the one hand wine brings us joy as the verse states, "wine will gladden the hearts of men" (Psalms 104:15). In fact our Rabbis ask a very good question pertaining to the drinking of the four cups of wine. The obligation to drink four cups is deduced from the four words used in the Torah do depict the redemption of the Jewish nation from Egypt (see Shemot 6:6-7). Based on these four words our Rabbis instituted the four cups of wine. But one could ask why the Rabbis used wine specifically. Why did they not use something else to remind us of the four words used for redemption? One of the answers is that wine makes us happy. On Pesah there is a unique command to be joyous and wine helps us to enter into that frame of mind. That's why when we drink we say "Lehayim".

Jewish law also makes it quite clear that the most preferred beverage for the four cups is red wine. In his code of Jewish Law Rabbi Yosef Karo makes it clear that red wine takes precedent over all other wines (see Shulkhan Arukh 472:11). I for one struggle with this law every year. I am a straight grape juice man. During the year on Shabbat and holidays I always make Kiddush on grape juice. Even one glass of wine doesn't agree with me (you can well imagine what four do). But on Pesah I force myself in order to fulfill the words of our Rabbis and drink four cups of red wine.

What's the big deal about red wine? Why is it to be used above all other wines? There are a number of answers that are provided to this question. The Talmud in Pesahim 108b states the following, "Rabbi Yehudah says that the wine (used for the four cups) should have the taste and appearance of wine". A discussion ensues in the Talmud relating to what is considered the correct appearance of wine. The Talmud concludes that the correct appearance of wine is when it is red. According to this answer the color red is preferred not for philosophical reasons, but simply because red wine is of better quality.

But there is a second answer to this question. Our Rabbis explain that red wine reminds us of the blood of Jewish children which was spilt in Egypt. It was the children that Pharaoh singles out when we read, "every boy born shall be thrown into the river" (Shemot 1:22). Our Rabbis further explain that Pharaoh after being struck with leprosy would soak in the blood of Jewish children.

I find this association to be the ultimate in paradox. Wine, which on the one hand brings us great joy and happiness, is also a reminder to us of all the children who are not present. Through wine we rejoice and feel pain all at once. How aptly wine captured the very essence of what being Jewish is all about. What nation knows better through its history to be celebrating at one moment and mourning at the next? The ultimate paradox is when there is not even a next moment, but the celebration and mourning are intertwined in the same moment.

This is the mood of the Pesah Sedder. The Matzah is both the food of our freedom and of our oppression all in one. At the Sedder we recline as the Roman's did and feel the liberation from the Romans all in one. We drink red wine, which reminds us of the shed blood of our children, and as we drink it we say "Lehayim". Wine, which so often is drunk in order to forget, on this night is drunk in order to remember.

It is here that lies the secret of being Jewish. We are on the one hand a nation that never forgets the tragedy that befell our people, while on the other hand we have the uncanny ability to rise above that sorrow and rejoice. If that's not paradox then what is?

More than ever I think we should dedicate this year's Sedder to our children. But not just to those who are present. Let us at our Sedders remember all the children who were robbed of the joy of being at the Sedder and reciting the "Mah Nishtanah". Lets remember the children of the past four years. Over one hundred whose blood was spilt by terrorists. Lets think of the countless families who will sit around their tables this year and imagine what it would have been like with their little ones chanting the Haggadah. Lets pray that all the children of the world without exception will live in safety in a world free of hate. May Hashem bless them all and let us all say "Lehayim".