The theme of swift transformation is essential to Pesach. The whole basis for eating matzah on Pesach is to remember the speed with which we left Egypt (Deuteronomy 16:3):
You shall eat no leavened bread with it; seven days you shall eat unleavened bread therewith, even the bread of affliction; for in haste you come forth out of the land of Egypt; that you may remember the day when you came forth out of the land of Egypt, all the days of your life.
In other words, the Israelites left Egypt in such a hurry that they had to eat matza since their dough did not have time to rise. That is partly true, but there is more to it than that.
When God told Moses that the Exodus from Egypt was finally going to take place, it was planned for the morning. On the night of the plague of the firstborn (Exodus 11), the Jews were to stay in their homes — and they were commanded to eat there the Pascal lamb, the bitter herbs, and matzah. They did not eat unleavened bread that night because they had to, because they were in a rush; they ate it because they were told to. They had time on the eve of the departure from Egypt to make regular bread, but God instructed them to bake matzah.
Then there was a sudden change of plan. As the firstborns died, the Egyptians were so overcome by fear and desperation that they drove the Israelites out in the middle of the night. In their surprise, the Jews had no time to prepare provisions for the journey. They threw some dough on their backs and it baked before it rose.
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Once we understand this sequence of events, we realise that there were not one but two matzot at the time of the Exodus: there was matzah of the eve of the Exodus, and then there was the matzah of the Exodus itself.
These two matzot are the basis for two distinct commandments. First, there is the instruction to eat matzah on Seder night: separate and distinct is the prohibition on eating chametz (leaven) for the whole of Pesach. We eat matzah on the first night of the festival because our ancestors voluntarily ate matzah before they left Egypt, but we refrain from chametz for the entire festival because they had no choice but to eat matzah as they left Egypt.
It should now be clear that the matzah of the first night of the Seder does not reflect our great rush to leave — so what does it represent? It cannot stand for oppression and slavery, because that first Seder in Egypt marked the imminent liberation of the people, and the Seder is our celebration of freedom. But if the matzah of the Seder is not a symbol of slavery, and if it is not a symbol of speed, what is it?
Readiness for change
The matzah that Jews eat on Seder night shows that we are always prepared for change. That is why, back in Egypt, it was eaten with staff in hand — another sign that the Israelites were ready to leave at any moment. That was a particular type of physical or geographical change, but there are many others. No one can ever be fully prepared, but we can take steps to put ourselves in the best possible position if change comes. We can train ourselves to be flexible, to respond calmly and to think creatively if the unexpected should occur, because there will be occasions in every life when the unexpected does occur. The matzah of Seder night is a reminder of the importance of this work of preparedness.
Just consider the sudden collapse of Kodak, the longstanding manufacturer of photographic film. In 1996 Kodak was massively successful. It boasted revenues of US $16 billion and was spending billions of dollars to buy other companies. By 2012 they had been forced to file for bankruptcy. The reason was their resistance to change — specifically, the transition to digital technology.
Kodak had actually developed a digital camber in 1975 but withdrew it from the market so they would not undermine their film business. Other companies recognised that digital technology could not be ignored or suppressed. The change was coming, and the only viable option was to embrace it. Those companies succeeded where Kodak failed. Attempting, like King Canute, to hold back the waters was bound to lead to disaster.
By 2004, Kodak was hit hard in the market of traditional camera film due to the transition to the digital format. (Photo illustration by Chris Furlong / Getty Images)
We do not know what changes will come, but we do know that they will arrive, in one form or another. We cannot plan our response, but we can plan to respond. We can sit, as the Israelites did on the first Seder night in Egypt with our staff in our hand, ready to move if we need to.
The great debate among the pre-Socratic philosophers was between Parmenides and Heraclitus. Parmenides argued that the world was static, whereas Heraclitus claimed that all was flux. Is the river always the same river, or does the unceasing flow of water mean that it is different in every moment? Are we the same people from birth to death, or does the fact that our bodies renew themselves entirely every few years mean we are not the same people we were twenty years ago? Was Parmenides right when he insisted on stability and continuity, or Heraclitus when he said, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man”?
I am proposing a middle position. For all practical purposes we can treat the world as stable, but seismic changes occur all the time — the technological advances of the past twenty years are just the most conspicuous instance. Change is frightening, the unknown is terrifying, but mature men and women have to face it. What is more, those changes can be greatly to our advantage. They can be liberating. They take us to a world where we can communicate instantly, video chat with our loved ones wherever they may be in the world, and acquire almost any piece of information in an instant.
When God told us to eat matzah the night before the Exodus, even though we were not leaving yet, He was teaching us that lesson: change is inevitable, and it is also an opportunity. Prepare for it and embrace it. May we all face change bravely, and use it to set us free.
Rabbi Dr Benjamin Elton is Chief Minister of The Great Synagogue, Sydney.
