Appreciating the Eighth Day

By now, most of us have devoured pizzas, bagels, cakes, and cookies. The minute Passover ended, we got our hands on as much chametz as we could, but not because we desperately needed it. We were not malnourished. We were not starving. Rather, after refraining from eating something, we desired it because we could finally eat it.

While I continued to eat matzah last Saturday, many, including my Reform colleagues and the Reform synagogues in the area, as well as all those in Israel, were already eating their much desired chametz. After all, the Torah requires us to refrain from eating leavened products for seven days (Ex. 12:15) and not eight. Yet, while one day of Yom Tov – the special first and last day of a holiday – is observed in Israel, the diaspora traditionally observed two days.

This second day of festival celebration in the diaspora, Yom Tov Sheni shel Galuyot, was established by rabbinic law during the Second Temple period. The reason given for such an observance is because of the lunar system of the Hebrew calendar. When the Temple stood, the length of a month depended on witnesses who had seen the new coming from where the Temple stood in Jerusalem. Once they declared the new month, news would be sent out to surrounding Jewish communities. Those communities further away from Jerusalem may not have received word of the beginning of the new month on the accurate date because of how much time it took for word to travel. Thus, the diaspora communities would observe a festival for two days to ensure that they were observing it on the correct day.

One can confidently say that in 2015, such a practice may not be necessary anymore. One can Google the date that Passover begins in the year 2035 and get the exact date and time. The Reform Movement abandoned the observance of the second day of Yom Tov many years ago. In fact, Rabbis Philip Sigal and Abraham Ehrlich wrote a responsum on behalf of Conservative Movement’s Committee on Jewish Law and Standards in February 1969, suggesting that while there is value to the second day of Yom Tov, the day should not be seen as a permanent enactment, but rather a custom and thus, communities should not feel compelled to observe Yom Tov Sheni.

Still, some forty-five years later, my congregation — as well as almost all diaspora communities that affiliate with the Conservative Movement – continue to observe that second day of Yom Tov, and thus, observed an eighth day of Passover. Yet, while some observe the eighth day stubbornly and are upset by the additional day of eating matzah, I relish the opportunity. For I needed an extra day with chametz. We all do.

Chametz, leavened products, has to do with the bread of affliction, the unleavened bread that the Israelites took with them when they left Egypt, but it is about more than that. Leavened products, chametz, represents that which puffs us up. Chametz is our ego. The act of getting rid of such leavened products allows us to get rid of that part of ourselves. It allows us to act more humbly in the process. Such an idea – riding ourselves of our inner chametz – is certainly appropriate since Passover is seen as a new year celebration of sorts as well.

On the High Holy Days, when the Gates of Heaven are closed at the conclusion of the Neilah service at the end of Yom Kippur, we need to continue to atone so such an act continues through Sukkot until Hoshana Rabba. So too, our struggle to rid ourselves of ourselves is an act that must continue. Instead of counting down the days until Passover is over, the past year, and every year, I appreciated that extra day – the eighth day. We all need that extra time to work on being more humble and less ego centric. Long after we are done eating matzah, may the unleavened bread still continue to remind us to look inside ourselves to be a better version of ourselves.

– Rabbi Jesse M. Olitzky

I’d Rather be Wicked than Wise

Listening to Billy Joel was a part of my childhood. Like most kids from New Jersey and New York, part of growing up was learning the lyrics to his songs. I still rock out to my Billy Joel playlist on Spotify and love that he plays at the Garden monthly. One of my favorite Billy Joel songs – and admittedly my “go to” karaoke song – is Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young.” In it, he sings to a religious girl, explaining that she is missing out on all the fun in life by hiding behind the strict rules and rites of her faith. I don’t necessarily agree with the lyrics, even if I love the song. As a rabbi, I of course don’t believe that fun and faith are opposing polarities on a single spectrum. Still, I believe there is value in his lyrics. Joel sings, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.” He is essentially saying he would rather be wicked than wise. Except, being wicked isn’t so wicked at all.

This week, during the holiday of Passover, we read about the four children during our Passover seders. The text in the Haggadah introduces us to the wise child, the wicked child, the simple child, and the child who does not know how to ask. One can argue that thesearen’t four separate children, but instead are each a part of us. At times we are all wise, wicked, simple, and silent. I don’t take issue with any of these children. I am bothered though by how each child is characterized.

What makes the wise child so wise? This child asks: “What are the testimonies, the laws, and judgments, that the Lord our God has commanded you to follow?” The wise child is only interested in rules and regulations. He or she is interested in a faith that is black and white, full of “thou shalls” and “thou shall nots.” This child is only about doing, without worrying about meaning or intent behind the action.

We must also ask, what makes the wicked child so wicked? After all, wicked, or Rasha in Hebrew, evil one, is quite an intense descriptive term for this child. Haman was evil. Pharaoh was evil. What makes this child so evil? Jeffrey Goldberg of The Atlantic comments in Jonathan Safran Foer’s New American Haggadah: “The wicked son is not wicked in any of the usual ways. He is not violent or sexually immoral; he does not keep slaves or steal.”

The wicked child asks: “What does this mean to you?” The child is not worried about perfecting ritual or reading liturgy properly. Rather, the wicked child is searching for meaning and understanding. Is that so bad? While traditionally, the rabbis argued that he was scolded because he didn’t care about his people or the scriptural narrative of the Jewish people, I think it is deeper. This text is an attempt by rabbinic tradition to emphasize doing without understanding or finding meaning. Appropriately, when the Israelites received the Torah, they said, “Naaseh v’Nishmah, we will do and then we will understand (Ex. 24:7).”

I am not suggested that there is no value in doing without finding meaning. Of course there is value! Part of doing without truly understanding why we do what we do is tradition, community, and faith. Additionally, the act of doing leads to understanding. Still, I would hardly consider he who only wants to do without questioning why and without searching for meaning as a chacham, as a scholarly and wise individual.

True wisdom is questioning. True wisdom is challenging. True wisdom is constantly searching for meaning and understanding that spiritual journeys are not always straight paths. True wisdom is being committed to doing while challenging. So maybe the wise child isn’t so wise after all. And maybe the wicked child is pretty smart. Instead of chastising the wicked child, we should be rewarding the wicked child. On a holiday full of asking questions, there is no greater question than that which searches for meaning. So I’d rather be wicked than wise, because in the words of Bllly Joel, they have much more fun.

Let us all be wise enough to be “wicked,” to not be as worried about what we do, but to step outside of our comfort zones and search for meaning in what we do.

-Rabbi Jesse M. Olitzky