“This is halachma anya—the bread of affliction—which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry, come and eat.” (Passover Haggadah)
Every year, we begin telling the Passover story with these words. Rabbi Eliezer Davidovits (Slovakia, 1878–1942) reads this line as a kind of mini-sermon. He teaches that halachma anya symbolizes our suffering in Egypt. To the Egyptians, we were a people “dwelling in their shadow,” thus, they were obligated, he writes, to treat us with justice and compassion. Instead, they increased our pain.
The Egyptians’ treatment of us was not only morally wrong, but also a profound misunderstanding of how God wants the world to be.
The Torah tells us that God brought us out of Egypt with chozek yad—a mighty hand. This phrase appears three times in Exodus 13. Why?
Davidovits teaches that chozek yad reflects the Egyptians’ mistaken view of power. They valued only yad yamin—the right hand, the strong hand. To them, power meant brute strength; the ability to dominate the powerless. And so, God responds measure for measure—with chozek yad.
However, all parts of the body are essential—not just those which are physically strong. Davidovits notes that tefillin are traditionally wrapped on the left arm, the weaker arm, as a reminder that the powerful must live in partnership with the weak.
True power—moral power—is not brute force or dominance. It’s rooted in the interdependence of all things. It is, by nature, limited; the weak and the poor set the moral boundaries for the strong and the rich. Passover reminds us that those who dwell in our shadow define the shape of our power. And only by embracing that limit can we become truly free.
Matzah is the bread of affliction; it symbolizes the distorted Egyptian view of power and how they subsequently wielded it over us. In response, we add these words at the seder: “Let all who are hungry come and eat.”
This is more than hospitality. It is a moral calling: to draw near to the poor, to care for the vulnerable, to recognize those who live in our shadow.
The late Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas (France, 1906-1995) affirms this. Freedom begins, he teaches, with responsibility for the other.
True freedom is not the ability to do whatever we want. It is the ability to respond to those who need us. We become free when we fulfill our obligations to those who live in our shadow.
May this z’man cheiruteinu—this Season of Our Freedom–be for us, for all Israel, and for the world, a season of responsibility: a time when we celebrate freedom by lovingly fulfilling the obligations our Torah commands.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoshi