Ignorance Is Bliss

By now you know I'm Jewish. My upbringing was mostly secular, but my wife and I chose a more religious path for our children – both at school and in our home. One of our most memorable home rituals was the Passover Seder but, in all honesty, I wasn't all that good at it. My education had left large holes in the knowledge of my heritage. So I decided to learn a little more about it, and to pass on to my children what I learned. I wrote a series of Haggadahs – “guidebooks” to the Seder – one for each of the children. The first was completed in 1980 when our oldest was fourteen, and the third two years later, when our youngest was eight. What I wrote in them isn't very important, but the experience was as the Introduction below will attest.

In the immortal words of Peggy Lee and Dave Barbour, “I know a little bit about a lot of things.” And while there are recurring themes in the essays published subsequently – like those in this column – I've also covered quite a bit of ground which included many subjects about which I had only a smattering of knowledge. Or as Lee and Barbour put it, “but I don't know enough about” them. (They had written “you” where I put “them” in the previous sentence, but you get the point.) So ignorance didn't stop me when I had something I wanted to say. In fact it helped, serving as an excuse for any errors, as you will see from the “Introduction” below. That essay, which was written for first Haggadah, may clarify my method, which I have continued to use – learn a little and shoot my mouth off. (Pope warned that “A little learning is a dangerous thing,” but that never fazed me.)

I'm including the whole Introduction. It's a little long but I like it the way it is. And you'll know a little more about me.

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Introduction

Seated around the seder table over the years we have had the opportunity to trade many ideas about the meanings of both the events recounted in the Haggadah, and the rituals associated with this celebration. These exchanges have added a lot to the pleasure of our joining together as a family, not rushed by the need to leave early or work the following day. We have learned a lot from each other, and from ourselves as well as we explored the questions we had, in order to explain our ideas about them to each other.

As the father it has been my responsibility to answer everyone's questions and to explain the deeper meanings of this important service. That has been my responsibility, but I have never fulfilled it to the degree that I should have liked. More often it has been your words, my children, your understandings and explanations, that have clarified the Haggadah for me. I have learned a lot from you and I am grateful to all of you for that. Your education and background prepared you better for this than did mine.

But my lack of education was not altogether wasted. The thoughts that I have had over the years about what was the seminal event of our history have prompted me to try to understand it in a manner a little different from the commentary in most Haggadahs. It is different in two ways. The first is in the premise of my comments. It is that the contents of the Haggadah are so basic to our understanding of our heritage that it is inconceivable that the entire Torah does not cast considerable light on it. I am certain that there is, in every parashah, whether it deals directly with the exodus or not, some thought that clarifies the meaning of the seder. Thus I have recorded my thoughts on each of the 54 sections of the Torah, indicating how I see it relating to the words of the Haggadah.

As for my lack of a formal education comparable to yours, however, that has been both a major drawback and a major benefit. Because most of the sources are closed to me I cannot bring down the references that have guided our commentators in the past. But my ignorance has been a kind of benefit. It has left me without some of the fixed ideas about what particular words, events or actions are supposed to mean. This lack of direction has allowed me to wander off in ways that may be different from those considered definitive. Indeed, some of my thoughts may be completely our of touch with our heritage, and I regret any ideas which, because of my ignorance, may be in disagreement with those of our sages.

But to the degree that my freedom to explore may have provided you with some perspectives that answer questions you have had, or which, at least, offer a different road for you to follow in finding your own answers, I am pleased. The effort, itself, has been both enlightening and liberating for me, for I have learned some important and basic lessons. First of all, in thinking about Jewish literature through the ages I recognize that a large percentage of it is not “original” but commentary on past works, especially the Torah, written and oral. And it follows that there is a great deal of commentary on the Haggadah, which is based on Torah. The Haggadah, which is based on biblical texts, has been expanded and expounded upon from the Tannaitic Period up to modern times, and the volume and varieties of commentaries is overwhelming.

More significantly, though, I now realize that the value of these commentaries is only in part the content. For after having engaged in this effort it seems apparent to me that even more important than the content is the process itself. I have commented on this idea while discussing Pikudei. Thinking and reworking the ideas has given me many more insights into it than I have recorded, and I hope that it will provide the opportunity for readers as well to consider and comment on the material. That is what Torah is about. It is a living document as long as we make it live by delving into it.

I have benefited greatly from this effort, and I hope you will gain a small part of the bounty I have derived from it.