The three most important ingredients at the seder table [for Passover] are the wine, matzah and maror (bitter herbs) for these three items capture the three foundational ideas that can allow us to set ourselves free.

A) The first step is wine. Wine possesses deep potency.

“When wine enters, secrets come out,” says the Talmud. 

Wine represents the “secrets” in us — for wine itself is a “secret:” It is initially hidden and concealed within the grape, and it takes much labor to extract it from the source; the grapes have to be crushed and the wine to ferment. Wine, an intoxicating beverage, represents the deeply concealed powerful forces lingering within the human psyche.

The first step in setting yourself free is realizing how much more there is to you than what meets the eye. You must recognize your potential — what you were really meant to be, what you are capable of becoming — for you to break out of the chains.

B) This comes together with step two — maror, which represents the bitterness caused by slavery. In order to set yourself free, you have to be able to stare the pain you endured in the face. Repressing pain and making believe it does not exist, only buries it deeper into our psyche. On the night of our freedom, we have to return to the “maror.” We must gaze into our pain, feel it, sense it, grieve for our hurt and, then, as we are staring into the pain, we will find the inner, secret spark of hope and light buried within it.

If we avoid the pain, we can’t discover its inner light. Only when we gaze at it, can we extract the ember hidden within the ashes.

C) Then we have the critical step of matzah. We eat the matzah, says the Haggadah, because the Jews did not have time to wait until the dough had risen; they rushed out of Egypt. I want to ask you … They waited for 210 years… They could not wait another few hours? What was the rush? And even if they were in a rush, why is that such a central theme in the narrative that for thousands of years we are eating only matzah and avoiding all leavened bread? What happened to the virtue of patience?

Answer: The greatest enemy to setting yourself free is delaying things: tough decisions and bold moves. The message of matzah is when it comes to setting yourself free, you have no time to wait even an extra 18 minutes. Do it now! Make that call now. Send that e-mail now. Make that move now. Set up that meeting now. Make that decision now. Start the new behavior now. Confront the situation now. Start doing it now. If it is worth doing, then do it now. Because, as my Rebbe would say, “We want Moshiach NOW.” We want redemption now.

Community Passover Seder — R.S.V.P. at www.JewishLHP.com.

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the director of Chabad of North Broward Beaches, located in the Venetian Isle Shopping Center at 2025 E. Sample Rd. in Lighthouse Point. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

Fifteen years ago, my friend observed a Passover in Japan while I was in Russia, this is his story:

It was a few weeks before Passover 1997. Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky, of Chabad World Headquarters in Brooklyn, requested of my colleagues to travel to the Far East and conduct public Passover Seder for the Jewish community living in the remote city of Kobe. Our journey was to go to Japan; and the numerous encounters with hundreds of Jews residing in that part of the world remains etched in my heart.

My colleague, Moshe Leiberman (today a Rabbi in Boston), supervised the meticulous procedures of koshering the Synagogue kitchen for Passover and preparing the food for the Seder. We did not know how many people to expect; there are wandering Jews to be found in every corner of Japan. To our astonishment, our first public Seder attracted close to 200 Jews, most of them from very secular backgrounds, some have not attended a Passover Seder in decades.

The energy was great. We sang, danced, ate the crunchy matzah and drank the tasty wine. The guests were into it, eating up the discussions as much as the delicious meal.

In the middle of the Seder, I was searching for words to describe my sentiments. My memory brought forth a moving Chassidic tale — one of my personal favorites — about the holy Rebbe (spiritual master) of Barditchov. Here it goes …

A drunkard’s seder

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Barditchov (1740-1810) was one of the great spiritual masters of his generation. One Passover, following an emotionally charged Seder, the Rebbe was told from heaven that Mosheleh, the water carrier’s, Seder was superior to his. “This year,” he was informed from above, “G-d’s most lovable Seder was that of the water-carrier of Barditchov.”

The next day after services, the Rebbe’s disciples went up to Mosheleh the water carrier and asked him to come see the Rebbe. Mosheleh came before the Rebbe, and he began to cry bitterly. He said, “Rebbe, I’ll never do it again. I’m so sorry; I don’t know what came over me.” The poor man was devastated. The Rebbe said, “Listen, my dear Jew, don’t worry so much; just tell us what you did last night.”

Here we must interrupt the story for a moment. It is well known that, generally, intoxication and alcoholism are viewed in Judaism as repulsive and destructive. Yet, our dear Mosheleh was orphaned at a young age and was miserably poor. He sadly succumbed to the temptation of alcohol as a way to deal with his agony and stress. Essentially, Mosheleh was a good and innocent man, a G-d fearing individual and a pure heart, but this temptation, unfortunately, got the better of him, and he drank often.

The “problem” is that on Passover you can’t drink whiskey. So Mosheleh had a tremendous idea: He’ll stay up the whole night before Passover and drink an amount of whisky that would keep him “high” for eight days straight, throughout the entire Passover holiday.

This Moshe did: When the night before Passover arrived, he drank and drank, until the minute when you must stop eating Chamatz (leaven) on the morning before Passover. When the clock struck 20 minutes after nine, he took his last “L’chayim” and he was out cold.

Seder night arrived. His wife came to wake him and said, “Mosheleh, it’s really not fair. Every Jewish home has a Seder. We have little children, and we are the only ones who don’t have a Seder.”

Mosheleh gazed at the Rebbe of Barditchov and continued relating his tale: “By then, did I regret that I drank so much the night before! Did I regret it! I would have done anything not to be drunk. But I couldn’t help it. So I said to my wife: ‘Please wake me up in an hour. I just can’t get it together yet.’ My wife kept waking me every hour, and then every half-hour. Then, suddenly, she came to me and said, ‘Moshe, in 20 minutes the Seder night is gone and the children are all sleeping. Shame on you. You are a disgraceful father and husband!’

“Gevald! I was so devastated,” Mosheleh told the Rebbe. “Here, my children are precious beyond words and I am a lousy alcoholic father, I didn’t even give them a Seder. I realized how low I have fallen, how my addiction destroyed my life and my relationships, how I sold my soul to the devil of alcohol. So, with my last strength, I got out of bed and sat down at the Seder table. I said to my wife, ‘Please, call our holy children.’

“She called the children and I said to them, ‘Please sit down very close to me, I have to talk to you. I want you to know, children, that I am so sorry that I drank. I am so sorry that I am a drunkard. If my drinking can make me not have a Seder with you, then it’s not worth it.’ I said to my children, ‘I swear to you, that I’ll never drink again in my life. But, right now, it’s Seder night, so let me just tell you the Passover story in a nutshell.’”

Mosheleh said to the Rebbe, “You know, I was still drunk, and I barely know how to read Hebrew. But, I tried my best. I said, ‘Children, I want you to know that G-d created heaven and earth in seven days. Then Adam and Eve ate from the Tree and were thrown out of Paradise. Since then, everything went downhill: There was a flood, there was a tower of Babel — that was as much as I knew.

Mosheleh said to the Rebbe, “Then came Abraham and Sarah. They began fixing the world again. Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Rachel and Leah and their 12 holy sons. Then Pharaoh made slaves out of us, and tonight, G-d took us out from Egypt.

“’My Sweet children, now we are also in exile. And I want you to know that the same G-d who took us out from Egypt is still alive and present and very soon He will liberate us from this exile too.’

“I turned to G-d, and said: ‘Father in heaven, thank you so much for taking us out of Egypt. And I beg you, sweetest father, please take us out of our present exile very soon’! Rebbe, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t say anything more because I was still drunk.

“I Took the Matzah, Maror and Charoses situated on the table and ate them. I filled four cups and drunk them one after another, I turned over and I fell asleep again.”

The holy master, Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Barditchov, was crying bitter tears. He said to his disciples, “Did you hear that? Did you hear that? I wish that one time in my life I should communicate Yiddishkeit (the Jewish spirit) to my children the way Mosheleh the water carrier gave it over to his children Seder night. I wish that once in my life I should converse with G-d like Mosheleh did during his Seder.”

A woman’s tale

I concluded the story and then I said:

“I want you to know that I celebrated many a Seder-night in a very observant Jewish community in New York. Yet I get the feeling that G-d’s most lovable Seder was the one done right here, in Kobe, Japan! Many of us here this evening may be unaware of the detailed Seder rituals and customs, and so many of us may not even know how to read the Haggadah in Hebrew. But, my dearest brothers and sisters, the sincerity and the passion of so many Jews thirsty to reconnect with their inner soul — this I’ve never seen before during a Passover Seder and I thank you for allowing me this special opportunity.”

I felt that the story has stirred up deep emotion in the audience. I could see tears streaming from some people’s eyes. But one woman was sitting at the other end of the room and was weeping profusely. She later approached me and related her personal tale: “I grew up in a very assimilated home,” the woman said. “I know almost nothing about Judaism. I’m living here in Japan for more than 20 years, working as a school teacher and involved in the mystical disciplines of the Far-East.”

She related to me that she was uninterested in attending the Seder, as she felt completely alienated from Judaism, yet a friend persuaded her to come.

“The only thing I remember about Judaism,” she continued, “was that my grandmother would always tell me that I have a special spiritual connection. Why? Because you are the 10th generation of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Barditchov.”

“Who is Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Barditchov? That my grandmother never knew. She just knew that he was some great man who lived in Eastern Europe. And she insisted that I always retain this piece of history in my memory. So, thank you Rabbi, for serving as the messenger of my holy grandfather to bring me to come back home this Passover night,” the woman said to me.

I wiped a tear from my eye and thanked the Almighty for sending me to Japan for Passover.

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the director of Chabad of North Broward Beaches, located in the Venetian Isle Shopping Center at 2025 E. Sample Rd. in Lighthouse Point. For all upcoming events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.

Why do we eat maror, or bitter herbs, at our Passover seder? The first seder the Jews conducted was in Egypt, on the eve of the 15th of Nissan, the night before they departed from the cursed country. Moses instructed the Jewish people to eat during that seder roasted lamb or goat, together with matzos and maror (bitter herbs).

Why did they eat maror on that first Passover night?

Rashi explains, “G-d commanded them to eat maror to remember that the Egyptians embittered their lives.”

This seems absurd. I can understand that now, in 2017, we are instructed to eat bitter herbs to remember the bitter pain our ancestors endured in Egypt. But for the first generations of Jews, who experienced the Egyptian exile, whose infants were plunged in the Nile, who were beaten and tortured, who suffered unbearable agony and bitterness—they needed to eat bitter herbs, horseradish, to remember the pain?

Imagine: It is April 1945. The Russians entered Auschwitz. The Germans fled. The Jews are still in the death camp. You tell them, “Tonight make sure to eat maror, so that you remember how the Germans embittered your lives.” You’re kidding me? Bitter herbs to remember? I have to remember? And a bitter vegetable will remind me of it? I have lived on this hellish planet for years! All bitter vegetables in the world don’t begin to compare to what I have been through.”

One of the answers is this. The mitzvah to eat the maror is what allowed the Jewish to become free.

When people experience pain they often react in one of two ways: Some people repress it; others become defined by it. Some people don’t talk; they don’t want to face the pain. It remains etched in the depth of their psyche, paralyzing them unconsciously. Others do not stop talking about it. It becomes the sole focus of their life. Bad things people might have done to you completely occupy your mental space. Disappointments, challenging experiences and difficult moments become your defining reality. Both paths are understandable, but we are capable of more. And that is the secret of the maror.

When G-d instructed that generations of Jews eat maror on the night of the seder, He was sharing with them the Jewish way of dealing with all types of disappointments and painful experiences in life: Designate a time and space to eat it, to look at it, to deal with it, to choke over it, to cry for it, to feel the pain. But do not let it become the focus of your entire life, and swallow up your future and destiny. The Jews leaving Egypt, by eating maror, objectified their pain, meaning they transformed it into an important reality that they could look at, feel, study and learn from. But it did not become their entire reality. They were a free people. Otherwise, they would have left the Land of the Pharaohs, but the Pharaoh would have not left them.

Once you eat maror, then you can eat matzah and drink four cups of wine. You can say to yourself, there is also joy in my life. There may be challenges but there is so much opportunity. There may be frustrations, but there is blessing, and, perhaps, I can utilize my experience to grow even more and to help others around me.

We do not ignore pain or take it lightly. We do not delegitimize human feelings. We do not say “get over it.” No, we designate a sacred space in our heart and our seder plate for the “maror.” When we eat the maror, this is our focus. We honor our feelings and experiences. And when we do that, we can say: that was the maror. And now it’s time for the matzah and the wine.

We are hosting our annual Seder at the Jewish Center of Lighthouse Point. To RSVP: e-mail Tzvidechter@gmail.com or visit our website at www. JewishLHP.com. Have a happy and a kosher pesach!

It is easy to miss the revolutionary idea behind the annual Passover Seder, in which we actively commemorate our slavery in Egypt and our subsequent redemption. In it, we attempt to turn hurt into a positive force.

We know that the parents most likely to abuse their children are those who were themselves abused when young. People who have been hurt tend to hurt others. The Seder came to reverse this instinctive response.

When the Jews had just been released from Egyptian slavery, the Torah commands, “You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” Because you were in Egypt and felt the pain caused by abuse, learn from it not to oppress the stranger, the orphan or the widow. You experienced injustice, therefore practice justice. You know what it is like to be a slave; therefore, do not enslave others. You have been hated; therefore, love your neighbor.

The Israelites could have well derived an entirely different lesson from their slave experience: “Do unto others as they did unto you.” Yet, the opening of the Seder is right in the beginning of the Haggadah; we declare, “This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat.” Wait a moment! If I was given bread of poverty, I might give the same to others. The Seder says otherwise: We know the taste of poverty. What’s the conclusion? We will ensure that others don’t go hungry.

All of us have been hurt. What do we do with that hurt? This is the question which distinguishes between the free man and the slave. The free man uses the hurt to know how not to treat others, to empathize with others; the victim continues to perpetrate what has been perpetrated on him.

The Wounded Puppy

A store owner was tacking a sign above his door that read “Puppies For Sale.” Signs like that have a way of attracting small children and, sure enough, a little boy appeared by the store owner’s sign.

“How much are you going to sell the puppies for?” he asked.

The store owner replied, “Anywhere from $30-$50.”

The little boy reached in his pocket and pulled out some change.

“I have $2.37,” he said. “May I please look at them?”

The store owner smiled and whistled; out of the kennel came Lady, who ran down the aisle of his store followed by five teeny, tiny balls of fur. One puppy was lagging considerably behind.

Immediately, the little boy singled out the lagging, limping puppy and said, “What’s wrong with that little dog?”

The store owner explained that the veterinarian had examined the little puppy and had discovered it didn’t have a hip socket. It would always limp. It would always be lame. The little boy became excited. “That is the little puppy that I want to buy,” he said.

The store owner said, “No, you don’t want to buy that little dog. If you really want him, I’ll just give him to you.”

The little boy got quite upset. He looked into the store owner’s eyes, pointing his finger, and said, “I don’t want you to give him to me. That dog is worth every bit as much as all the other dogs and I’ll pay full price. In fact, I’ll give you $2.37 now, and 50 cents a month until I have him paid for.”

The store owner countered, “You really don’t want to buy this little dog. He is never going to be able to run and jump, and play with you, like the other puppies.”

To this, the little boy reached down and rolled up his pant leg to reveal a badly twisted, crippled left leg supported by a big metal brace. He looked up at the store owner and softly replied, “Well, I don’t run so well myself, and the little puppy will need someone who understands!”

When we experience pain in our life, we can become more bitter, or more empathetic. We can either say: I had this pain let me make sure you have it, too. Or we can say: I had this pain, I know what it feels like, I will ensure you don’t.

Rabbi Tzvi Dechter is the director of Chabad of North Broward Beaches located in Lighthouse Point. For all upcoming programs and events, please visit www.JewishLHP.com.