Candle lighting for Pesach / Shabbat
Thursday, April 12 7:09 pm
Friday, April 13 7:10 pm
This Week’s CSH Pesach / Shabbat Service Schedule
Friday – Pesach 7th Day @ Temple Adas Israel with Yizkor 10:00 am
Shabbat @ Temple Adas Israel 10:00 am
April Shabbat Schedule
April 21 @CSH 9:30 am
April 28 @ Temple Adas Isreal 10:00am
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UPCOMING – Mark your calendar
East End Yom Hatzmaut Celebration
Sunday, April 22
Wear Blue & White
10:00 am - The Jewish Center of the Hamptons
Opening Ceremony (front lawn of JCOH) Yom Hazikaron: Israel Memorial Day Remembrance
11:30 am - Chabad Lubavitch of the Hamptons
Falafel Lunch
4:00 pm - The Conservative Synagogue of the Hamptons and Temple Adas Israel
Movie: Footnote (Hearat Shulaim) 2011
Sag Harbor Movie Theater / Main Street
Wine & Cheese Reception to follow
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End of Pesach Musings
A Song of Longing by Rabbi Norman Lamm 1967
The last days of Passover commemorate specifically the miracle of the crossing of the Red Sea.
It was at this occasion that Moses and the Children of Israel raised their voices in the immortal
shirah, song, which we repeat every day of the year.
The Talmud tells of another song that was almost sung at this occasion. The malakhei ha-sharet,
the ministering angels, expressed the desire to say shirah before God at the occasion of the
defeat of Pharoah's hordes. The Almighty, however, refused to grant them per- mission to recite
shirah. His reason was, maasei yadai tov'im ba- yam v'atem omrim shirah? -- how can you think
of singing My praises at a time when the work of My hand, the Egyptians, are drowning in the
sea? At a time when God's creatures are suffering and being destroyed no matter how well
deserved that suffering and destruction is -- no one, not even the ministering angels, have the
right to sing!
Now, that is certainly a good reason and appeals to our noblest and most humane instincts. It is
a remarkable instance of the Jewish view on compassion even for a malicious enemy. However,
there is something troubling about this entire episode in the Talmud. If this were an adequate
reason why the angels should not sing shirah, why then were Moses and the Children of Israel
permitted to sing their song, the famous az yashir. Why, indeed, do we repeat this az yashir
song every day? Why, furthermore, do we recite the Hallel, even if it be only half Hallel, during
these days of Passover? This, too, is shirah, and by the inner logic of God's response maasei
yadai tov'im ba-yam v'atem omrim shirah, both Moses and Israel, and we today, should keep our
peace and remain silent.
I would suggest, in answer, that there are two kinds of shirah. One is the song of exultation, the
cry of triumph and victory and conquest, when God has manifested His omnipotence by the
destruction of His enemies. It is this kind of shirah that the angels endeavored to sing. This sort of
song is quite natural and would be acceptable -- but not at a time that maasei yadai tov'im bayam, that God's human creatures experience the sufferings and pangs of death.
The other song is not that of triumphant exultation, but the expression of gratitude for existence
itself. The renowned Rabbi Loewe, known as the Maharal of Prague, defined this kind of shirah
as gaagu'im shel ha-alul la-ilah, the longing of the effect for the cause. Because the effect derives
totally from the cause, then, when the effect acknowledges its existence to the cause, that acknowledgment we consider shirah. This shirah, therefore, is that of yearning rather than rejoicing,
nostalgia rather than jubilation; it is the effect pining for the cause and not the elation of conquest.
http://brussels.mc.yu.edu/gsdl/collect/lammserm/index/assoc/HASH01bb/92cfbd25.dir/doc.pdf
~~~~~~~~~~~
Shabbat Pesach by Rabbi Goldfeder
My favorite part of the Seder is the very last part of the Hagaddah: chad gadya, the strange tale
of a man who bought a goat that was eaten by a cat, which was bit by a dog, which was hit by a
stick that ultimately got burnt by a fire that was extinguished by water that was drunk by a grassfed ox which was slaughtered by a Temple Grandon-certified shochet, who died by the hand of
the angel of death, which was then vanquished by the Holy One, Blessed is He. Somehow, at
the end of a long night, we have earned the right to a playful song or two.
The thematic connection between Pesach and chad gadya is not obvious. But the fact that we
are singing songs is not foreign it all to Pesach. In fact, song is a thread that weaves all
throughout Pesach. On Shabbat of Pesach, we read the Song of Songs. And then we celebrate
shevi'i shel pesach – the day we crossed the sea and sang a song when we reached the other
side.
Why do we sing? Maya Angelou said, “A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer. It sings
because it has a song.” When do we “have a song”? Not when we have an answer. We have a
song when we see the bigger picture. That's what happened when the Jews crossed the sea.
Their journey wasn't over, and they knew it. They didn't yet have a solid footing in the land that
was promised them. But given what they had just seen, they believed they would get there.
Rebbe Nachman connects songs and emunah-faith. Faith is context. It means “Taking a good
look at the way things have gone until now, I know how to see this moment.” Faith means, “I
know I lost my job. But last time I lost my job, I got a better one. So even if I don't get a better
one this time, I know that it has a larger purpose.” The Song of the Sea was about faith - “And
they believed in Hashem and in Moshe his servant. And then Moshe and the Jewish people sang
this song to Hashem...” They knew, having seen the unprecedented and indescribable revelation
at the sea that, somehow, everything would be alright. And they sang that feeling.
The best songs, the best niggunim, are the ones that speak of the moment amidst the long
journey from the past to the future. I don't mean to be pithy, or make too much of a joke, but
when I look for an example of the good songs I know, for some reason I think of Eye Of The
Tiger. That song isn't about victory. It is about well-substantiated faith in one's self. “Rising up...”
“Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop. Just a man and his will to survive.”
We sing chad gadya in the section of the Seder called nirtzah, which literally means “it has been
accepted” or “it has been desired.” “We have finished the seder according to the halacha.” We
have done all that we could tonight. We tried our best. We ate the matzah – we even
remembered to lean! We ate maror, we drank the wine, we said Hallel. We told the story as best
we could. Did we reach ultimate redemption? The Hagaddah, in that very section, says 'no':
“Just as we have merited to arrange (le'sader) it, so we may merit to do it. Next year in
Jerusalem!”
Clearly, doing a good Seder is not the end of the story. And yet, at this moment of clarity – a
seder well-done in a world yet to be redeemed – we sing. “My father bought for two zuzim...”
Just like our ancestors sang about their moment - a perfect moment, total victory – and a future
they had not yet reached: “Bring them and plant them on the mountain of Your heritage.” A song
comes out when the moment is understood for what it is. Hope is there, but so is truth. Faith in
the future – realism about the moment.
Song of Songs is a bird's eye view of a love affair. Together. Apart. Together. Apart. If you can
remember the song, you don't hurt as much when you are apart. That's why Moshe's last lesson
for the Jewish people is a song - “When misery finds them, this song will answer for them as a
testimony. For it will not be forgotten.”
Maybe that's what chad gadya is about – don't worry! Your goat is dead, but it will all come to
pass. Hashem is watching. In fact, your poor goat's premature demise will bring the ultimate
redemption. But we have to sing the song in order to remember.
http://boulderaishkodesh.org/shabbat-pesach-by-rabbi-goldfeder/
~~~~~~~~~~~
Maggid by Marge Piercy
The courage to let go of the door, the handle.
The courage to shed the familiar walls whose very
stains and leaks are comfortable as the little moles
of the upper arm; stains that recall a feast,
a child’s naughtiness, a loud blistering storm
that slapped the roof hard, pouring through.
The courage to abandon the graves dug into the hill,
the small bones of children and the brittle bones
of the old whose marrow hunger had stolen;
the courage to desert the tree planted and only
begun to bear; the riverside where promises
were shaped; the street where their empty pots were broken.
The courage to leave the place whose language you learned
so early as your own, whose customs however
dangerous or demeaning, bind you like a halter
you have learned to pull inside, to move your load;
the land fertile with the blood spilled on it;
the roads mapped and annotated for survival.
The courage to walk out of the pain that is known
into the pain that cannot be imagined,
mapless, walking into the wilderness, going
barefoot with a canteen into the desert;
stuffed in the stinking hold of a rotting ship
sailing off the map into dragons’ mouths.
Cathay, India, Serbia, goldeneh medina,
leaving bodies by the way like abandoned treasure.
So they walked out of Egypt. So they bribed their way
out of Russia under loads of straw; so they steamed
out of the bloody smoking charnelhouse of Europe
on overloaded freighters forbidden all ports–
out of pain into death or freedom or a different
painful dignity, into squalor and politics.
We Jews are all born of wanderers, with shoes
under our pillows and a memory of blood that is ours
raining down. We honor only those Jews who changed
tonight, those who chose the desert over bondage,
who walked into the strange and became strangers
and gave birth to children who could look down
on them standing on their shoulders for having
been slaves. We honor those who let go of everything
but freedom, who ran, who revolted, who fought,
who become other by saving themselves.
~~~~~~~~~~~
In the Polish town of Gora Kalwaria, Hasidic Jews mark Passover by re-enacting the crossing of
the Red Sea. To make it as realistic as they can, they pour water on the floor, lift up their coats
and recite the names of the towns they would cross. They also make sure to raise a glass at each
mention of a town and offer thanks to God for being able to reach their destination.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Kavannah for Counting the Omer
May it be your will, Eternal One, our God and God of our ancestors, that by the merit of our
counting the Omer, in anticipation of receiving your Torah and, we will add depth of
consciousness and sanctity to our lives. Amen.
(adpated from Ron Aigen, (Ed.) Hadesh Yameinu, p. 506)
~~~~~~~~~~~
Pesach Yizkor: Redemptive Remembrance
The dining room table was simply resplendent. Covered in her now off-white lace table cloth, the
oak wooden table stood sturdily atop the navy tuft pile carpet, though every year a few more
shims were added for leveling. On the soft carpet, slight impressions from hundreds of chair legs
left indented memories of the past.
In the corners of the dining room, white built-in cabinets displayed China dishes with tiny blue and
white flowers, wine glasses of every size, a shelf reserved entirely for Shabbat candlesticks, and
a rudimentary Hanukkah menorah made of wood and bolts, the sole survivor of Sunday school,
now coated with wax.
The door was open to Elijah. At one end of the table sat his goblet full of wine, waiting for his visit,
while across from it, Miriam’s cup stood in prominence. The children, who were now adults, still
shot furtive glances at these cups. Would the wine disappear this year like it always had?
As in every year, there was too much food. He always cooked for twelve, even though now, there
were only five or six people who might return to this table for Passover.
In the foyer, a few table leaves leaned against a corner.
“Honey, we don’t need them this year,” he suggested to his wife.
“No. Lets put them in – just in case.”
“But Mom,” their adult children echoed, “its just the six of us. And the leaves are really heavy. It's
not worth breaking your back over.”
“No. No.Lets put them in – just in case.”
And so they compromised. This year, one leaf would be used. The other would stand lonely in
another room.
“And Mom, we don’t need extra chairs either.”
It’s in these moments, joyous holiday meals and family celebrations, that we remember them. It is
in the smell of spices so fragrant, the taste of sweet wine and the shadow of candles flickering,
that we recall the days when they sat next to us and sometimes we can still feel their warmth.
As we recall the story of the Jewish people, of our redemption from slavery in Egypt, we
remember also the story of our own families: the journeys and experiences that shaped us, the
people and places, and the faces that sat across from us, shared meals with us, shared the story
with us – for so many years.
We can’t help but want to set a place for them at the table, hoping that they will walk in the door
years after they’ve departed. We can’t help but want to hear their voices singing, laughing. We
can’t help but want to smell their perfume, to taste their cooking, to see their smile.
While our memories are but meager substitute for the warm hug we so long to experience, may
we find solace and comfort in knowing that while they may be gone, our memories endure.
http://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/pesach-yizkor-redemptive-remembrance?print=yes
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Gribbenes (parashat Bo)
© Rabbi Joe Black - Pesach, 5768
This year, on Pesach, I ate my father's food:
Gribbenes, Gehachte Leber, and Gefilte Fish*
My Doctor tells me it hardens my arteries
But I think it softens my soul.
I wonder if Pharaoh ate gribbenes?
His heart hardened, melted, hardened, melted –
Like schmaltz
Floating on the surface
With each successive reconstitution -Thawing, cooling, thickening, slickening
Until, finally
It merges into the mixed multitude
of shredded leeks, onions, bones and flesh that gather
On the bottom of the pot.
Pharaoh, after some prodding, hardened his own heart.
It was he who chilled his veins, sinews and arteries.
It was he who refused to open his eyes to the greasy truth
That haunted him with each successive plague:
Night after sleepless night – he felt them:
The shortness of breath
The sharp pain that radiated
From the back of his neck to the tips of his fingers…..
If only, godlike, he could have seen the blockage
If only hearing, seeing, welcoming freedom's cry
Could somehow miraculously have melted away his stubbornness
Flowing effortlessly into the banks of the Nile.
But then, of course,
We would have no story.
Dayenu.
http://rabbijoeblack.blogspot.com/2011/04/gribbenes-poem-for-pesach.html
* Gribbenes is rendered chicken fat. Gehachte Leber is chopped liver, and Gefilte Fish is….Gefilte Fish…..
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Donations --Thank you
Roslyn Scheidlinger –in memory of Mordechai Schottenfeld, beloved son of Lorraine and Herbert
Debbie and Mark Menzer – for supporting the Lucille Cohen / Lillian Menzer Scholar in Residence Fund
End Quote
Change has a considerable psychological impact on the human mind. To the fearful it is
threatening because it means that things may get worse. To the hopeful it is encouraging
because things may get better. To the confident it is inspiring because the challenge exists to
make things better. -- King Whitney Jr.
Chag Sameach v’Kasher. Shabbat Shalom.
Stacy