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If Matzah Could Talk

March 25, 2015

By Aryeh Ben David

Published in Ayeka’s newsletter 

March 25, 2015

 

At the Seder we celebrate talking. The very name – Pesach – is referred to in the Kabbalah as “Peh-Sach”, “the mouth that talks”.

Usually we understand this as the talking of the people sitting around the Seder table, reading and expanding on the words of the Haggadah.

But what if the objects at the Seder could talk? What if the matzah, the maror, the wine, the Seder plate, the charoset and the beautiful dishes could suddenly open their mouths? What would they have to say to us?

Can we ‘get inside’ the objects of the Seder and hear their version of what is happening?

Here is an attempt to listen to one of the real players of the Seder story. If matzah could talk:

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“I am lonely. Sometimes I am bitter. Life has not been fair to me. I am the plain child.

“People feel uncomfortable around me. They glance at me and look away. They move quickly around me, not wanting to spend an extra second in my presence. As if I have some terrible disease or some awful secret. Sometimes I think I remind them of an unpleasant memory in their own past.

“No one chooses me. I sit alone on the bus. Do you know what it is like to sit by yourself – day after day? I stare out the window but don’t see anything.

“I have been lonely for a very long time. I’ve just about given up.

“Years of rejection have left me very guarded. I cringe and recoil from a drop of kindness.

“I sit in the back corner, away from everyone else. Others – they are all so beautiful. They smile; their eyes have light and hope. They wear the latest clothes, designer jewelry, and perfume. I have been wearing the same hand-me-downs for generations. I always look the same. Nothing new about me.

“I don’t even envy those others. What’s the point? I am what I am. Nothing more. I’ll never have what they have. I’ll never be like them. My parents didn’t have anything more. Nor my grandparents. We’ve been exactly the same for generations. What hope do I have for things to be different?

“I silently plod along. One day like the next; my life is very stuck. In my dreams I imagine myself running, jumping, skipping, and joyously dancing. A full celebration. But those are only dreams. What good are they?”