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a messianic jewish perspective Volume 21:10

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a messianicjewish perspective

a messianicjewish perspective

a messianicjewish perspective

Volume 21:10

ISSN 0741-0352 PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. ©2017EDITOR IN CHIEF: SUSAN PERLMAN EDITOR: MATT SIEGERDESIGN / ILLUSTRATION: PAIGE SAUNDERSJOIN US AT FACEBOOK.COM/ISSUESMAG

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It really is the million-dollar question. Why do we have

to eat this dry, crumbly bread not only for one night,

but for eight nights? While there might be some matzah

connoisseurs out there, for most it is at best passable and

at worst a plague for eight nights! As a friend of mine

put it last year, “I hate Passover! You have to eat food you

don’t like and spend time with relatives you don’t like.” It

is called the “bread of affliction” after all. . . .

But enough with the kvetching. If I’m honest, perhaps

I’m overstating my dislike for matzah, yet the question

remains: “Why on this night do we only eat matzah?”

We of course know the traditional answer: “Because

our ancestors had to leave Egypt in such haste, there

wasn’t enough time for their bread to rise.” But I’m sure

there must be more to it than that.

Taking a look at the Torah, we find that unleavened

bread makes several appearances, all in connection with

the sacrifices that we had to offer. We find that, for the

most part, God specifically instructs us not to mix leaven

with our offerings to Him (see Exodus 23:18 and 34:25).

This, together with the rule about not eating fat, could

lead us to believe that God has some strange eating

habits, perhaps a forerunner to the modern vegan diet.

Or, more probably, God is trying to tell us something.

The rabbis teach that leaven or yeast is used

throughout Scripture as a symbol for sin (see, for

example, Berachot 17a and also Rashi on that passage).

Sin, simply put, is anything bad that we do/say/think. God

didn’t want us to mix leaven with our sacrifices, in order

to teach us that when we approach Him, He expects

us to be pure and holy, just like He is. The very setup of

the Tabernacle teaches us that while God wants to live

among us, He is still decidedly different from us. We were

to never forget that He is a holy God who cannot have

anything sinful in His presence. As He put it, “You shall

be holy, because I am holy” (Leviticus 20:26).

The problem, of course, is that we are not holy. Most

of us would like to think that we are good, law-abiding

citizens. Some of us might even think that we are a bit

above average in the honoring-God department. The

traditional, rabbinic Jewish view on sin seems to subscribe

to this approach. The rabbis teach us that we each have

two inclinations, the yetzer hara (evil inclination) and the

yetzer hatov (good inclination).1 The power to do good or

evil lies in our hands. We are fundamentally good people,

who are sometimes led astray to do bad things.

The understanding that we get from the Tanakh about

sin is, however, very different. As we read the Torah and

the rest of Scripture, it is quite discomforting to realize

that we are not basically good people who sometimes go

astray. We, ourselves, are the problem. Take, for example:

And the Lord saw that the wickedness of man was

great in the earth, and that every imagination of

the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.

(Bereshit/Genesis 6:5 JPS)

The Lord looked down from heaven upon the

children of men, to see if there were any that did

understand, and seek God. They are all gone aside,

they are all together become filthy: there is none that

doeth good, no, not one. (Tehillim/Psalm 14:2–3 JPS)

But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our

righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do

a messianicjewish perspective

a messianicjewish perspective

a messianicjewish perspective

The Good, the Bad and the Unleavened by Aaron Lewin

“Why on this night do we only eat matzah?”

As we read the Torah and the rest of Scripture, it is quite discomforting to realize that we are not basically good people who sometimes go astray.

fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind,

have taken us away. (Isaiah 64:6)

Our very nature is tainted by sin because we are

born as the descendants of Adam and Eve, who sold

themselves into slavery to sin when they rejected God and

followed the serpent’s advice. King David recognized this

and exclaimed, “Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in

sin did my mother conceive me” (Tehillim/Psalm 51:5 JPS).

Furthermore, the whole sacrificial system of the Torah

which seems so abhorrent to us in the modern world was

designed to teach us that we weren’t good—we had to

constantly bring sacrifices to God for Him to forgive us so

we could draw close to Him. I’m sure the constant sight

of dead animals and blood was a wakeup call to any who

entertained any thoughts of being fundamentally good.

Even our modern world confirms the truth of God’s

understanding of us and sin as shown in the Tanakh.

One just needs to read the headlines to realize that the

world is a broken place, and it’s not just the fault of a few

“bad eggs.” Consider the Shoah: the fact that such utter

depravity could take place in the twentieth century in the

land of the “Poets and Thinkers” is more proof of the

utter corruption of the human race. And whether we like

it or not, you and I are included in that.

So, leaven is used by God in the Bible to teach us

about sin. It’s beautiful then, that at Passover, we cleanse

all the leaven from our home as a symbol of a desire to

lead a life that is sin free. And eating the matzah reminds

us that God expects us to be holy as He is holy. Perhaps

the million-dollar question is not, “Why do we only eat

matzah?” but “How does God expect us to be holy and

how can we deal with the problem of sin in our lives?”

Thankfully, Passover provides the answer, and in a

place that we would least expect it—in the matzah and

in the lamb. We no longer eat lamb at Passover, because

the lambs that we used to eat were sacrifices that had

to be offered at the altar in the Temple in Jerusalem. No

Temple, no altar, no Passover lambs. And yet the central

part of the very first Passover in Egypt was the lamb.

Without the sacrifice of the lamb, without its blood on

our doorposts, our firstborn too would have died. The

lambs died instead of our firstborn.

Thousands of years later, another Passover lamb

would die, so that we could live. The Messiah, Yeshua,

like a lamb led to the slaughter (Isaiah 53:7), gave his

life for us at Passover, so that we can escape the wrath

of God at the “day of the Lord” (Joel 2:1–2) and that

we can “live life to the full” (John 10:10). More than

that, Yeshua died to free us from our corrupt selves and

our slavery to sin so that we can be free to live a life of

purpose that honors God.

While the rabbis teach that since the Temple was

destroyed good works now atone for our sin (see Avot

de Rabbi Natan 4), the Torah teaches something very

different. In Vayikra/Leviticus 17:11 we read, “For the

life of the flesh is in the blood; and I have given it to

you upon the altar to make atonement for your souls;

for it is the blood that maketh atonement by reason

of the life” (17:11 JPS). In other words, our sin led to

death—either our death or the death of a substitute,

in this case an animal, just like at Passover. God never

repealed this commandment and so it still stands today.

We believers in Yeshua recognize that the animal

sacrifices in the Torah pointed forward to the ultimate

sacrifice of the Messiah, who would take away the sin

of the world.

Sometimes Yeshua is mistakenly

Thankfully, Passover provides the answer, and in a place that we

would least expect it—in the matzah and in the lamb.

(continued on page 8)

ISSUES is a forum of several Messianic Jewish viewpoints. The author alone, where the author’s name is given, is responsible for the statements expressed. Those wishing to take exception or wishing to enter into dialogue with one of these authors may write the publishers and letters will be forwarded. Email: [email protected] | jewsforjesus.org

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Gedalia was only a kid. He wasn’t a kid in the

common sense of the word, meaning “child” or

“offspring.” On the other hand, I suppose one could say

that Gedalia was the child of Malka the nanny goat, who

provided milk for the largest family in Vaysechvoos, for

Duvid the Tanner and his wife, Yetta, were the proud, if

not somewhat overwhelmed, parents of eleven “kids” of

their own. Of course, Malka’s kid was not a child, though

the feat he performed could make you wonder. But we

don’t want to get ahead of our story.

Gedalia was a kid with no future—no

future, that is, other than being passed on

a platter from one guest to the next at

the Passover seder of Yossel and Shayna

Rabinovitch. They were not wealthy

people by ordinary standards, but in a

town as poor as Vaysechvoos, they set a

table most of the townsfolk only dreamed

about—a Passover “feast.”

But before making his appearance—between

the carrots and the potatoes at the Rabinovitch home,

Gedalia’s schedule included a trip to the town shochet.

Poor Gedalia. A label was hung around his neck and

he was led to a pen behind the shop of Shimmon the

Shochet, who declared the sentence of the goat’s demise

to be the following day!

And then something as rare as a kindhearted Cossack

came to Vaysechvoos—a thief. A thief in Vaysechvoos?

This was indeed a rarity, because, after all, there was

nothing to steal in Vaysechvoos! Oh, one could strip some

of the clothing from a clothesline, but who would pay

anything for such rags? Or one could haul away the pots

and the pans, but, like most worldly goods in Vaysechvoos,

they were so old, so bent and so just plain used up, that

only a fool would exert the energy to carry them off.

But to tell you the truth, this thief who came to

Vaysechvoos wasn’t much of a thief. First of all, he was

a Jew and he couldn’t bring himself to steal on the

Sabbath. If he had been a little more articulate, he would

have aspired to be a beggar. But as it was, all he could

do was sneak from one village to the next and try to steal

a couple of chickens or perhaps even a goat. Yonah the

Thief was too terrified to try stealing anything bigger, like

a cow or a horse.

Gedalia the kid was just the right size for Yonah

the Thief, who crept into the pen and slipped a

rope around the neck of the doomed animal. He

pulled Gedalia out of the shochet’s pen, out of

the town and down by the stream which runs

on the eastern border of Vaysechvoos.

Perhaps Gedalia sensed that Shimmon

the Shochet’s pen was not the safest place

for a goat just before Passover, so he allowed

Yonah to drag him off without any protest.

However, when Gedalia stepped into the stream,

he was not prepared for its cold current. He bleated and

he jumped and in his confusion and terror, he began

prancing around in circles. Yonah was caught off-guard,

but was determined to hold onto his end of the rope.

The other end, of course, was tied around the hapless he-

goat’s neck. As the foolish thief turned round and round

in an attempt to keep an eye on his captive, he entangled

himself in his own rope. And before you could say, “Oy

vey!” the klutz tripped and fell into the stream, which

felt like ice to his pupik. He made a quick apology to the

Almighty for being such a schlemiel and then he fainted.

Poor Yonah. Poor Gedalia. They were quite a sight.

The stream was not so deep, but it held enough water to

drown a man who was tangled up with a rope, lying flat

on his pupik!

Now Gedalia was just a little tiny goat, but Yonah

didn’t weigh much either. Well, Gedalia’s only thought

was to escape from the cold stream and from the awful

weight around his neck. So when the thief came to, he

found himself being inadvertently rescued by the goat,

who had somehow managed to pull himself and the

thief up on the bank. The poor bedraggled Gedalia was

bleating so piteously that all of Vaysechvoos, including

Shimmon the Shochet and his apprentices, came out to

see who was making such a racket.

Upon seeing the still entangled Yonah, one of the

apprentices surmised what had happened and shouted, “He

deserves a good beating for trying to steal the little he-goat!”

“How can we beat such a pathetic nudnik?” retorted

the shochet. “We’ll take him to the Sage; he will know

what to do. He’ll mete out the proper punishment for this

pitiful excuse of a thief.”

And a wise decision it was which the Sage of

Vaysechvoos handed down: Yonah was required to clean

the pens of the shochet for three months. Of course,

the shochet paid him a nominal amount and put him

up in the little shed next to the pen. Yonah, who had

repented just prior to passing out in the stream, liked

the punishment so well that he begged to be allowed to

continue, and he has been working there ever since.

You might be wondering about Gedalia the

goat. Ahhh, well let me tell you. He didn’t grace the

Rabinovitch table that Passover or any other. No,

Gedalia was not to be slaughtered, but was treated with

honor and allowed to live out his life in peace. After

all, the Sage explained, the Talmud said of Pharaoh’s

daughter, who withdrew Moses from the water, “He

who saves a life, it is as if he saved the whole world.”

And, the Sage reasoned, though it would be irreverent

to compare Yonah the thief with Moshe Rabeynu, the

whole experience not only saved the life of the thief, but

brought his soul to repentance. The goat had been used

by the Almighty for a noble and lofty purpose, and was

therefore deserving of honor.

shochet: the authorized slaughterer of animals

klutz: a clod; a clumsy slow-witted, graceless person;

an inept blockhead

pupik: navel, belly button

schlemiel: a foolish person; a simpleton; a consistently unlucky

or unfortunate person, a born loser; a clumsy,

butterfingered, all-thumbs, gauche type

nudnik: a pest, a nag, an annoyer, a monumental bore

Moshe Rabeynu: Moses our Teacher

Glossary

I was excited

to be

heading to

the West Coast

to visit my older

brother Steve. My

dad had been there earlier

when Steve moved from our New

York home and found an apartment in Los Angeles. My

dad had returned to New York with the good news that

my brother had found a place with a nice Jewish landlady

who would “keep an eye on him.”

However, Steve told us that he’d begun going to

Friday night Bible studies. That surprised me, but I

expected he would explain more during my spring break

visit. So when Steve greeted me at the airport, after

saying hello, I immediately asked, “What is this about

Friday nights and Bible studies?” He replied briefly that

he believed the Messiah had come. Curiosity turned to

cold fear. Had my brother gone meshuggah? “Oh . . .

really Steve?” I asked. “Who do you think the Messiah is,

anyway?” He responded “Jesus!”

I was horrified! And here I was stuck—on the West

Coast, at Passover time with my non-traditional brother,

only to discover that my brother’s Jesus-believing friends

were having a seder. This was less

than ideal, but I did not want to miss

Passover, so I agreed to go with him.

I have to say that Jewish

celebrations are my favorite

childhood memories, and Passover

at my grandparents’ house was

probably the most memorable.

Every year, my grandfather read

the Exodus story to us while my

grandmother prepared the feast.

Her matzah-ball soup and brisket

were really something! But finding the afikoman was

the most exciting part of the evening. If I found it

before anyone else did, I’d be rewarded with some

pocket change, or candy—it didn’t matter, it was

just the fun of looking for it and being filled with

anticipation. Passover was not a particularly spiritual

experience for me. I grew up knowing about God, but

I rarely spoke to God myself. I went to Hebrew school

every Tuesday and Thursday after regular school, plus

every Sunday morning. I learned to read and write

Hebrew and could recite the traditional prayers.

Like my brother, I was bar mitzvah. And as with him,

it marked the end of my regular synagogue attendance.

Except, of course, on Yom Kippur. That was a family

tradition, and as such, I never questioned it.

I was attending high school at the School of

Performing Arts at the time I made the trip to see Steve.

It was very intense work, and I was looking forward

to spring break. Since Steve wasn’t coming home for

Passover, I would go to him. And now that he was having

Passover with Jesus-believing friends, so would I.

I heard things that night that I had never heard

before—not in Hebrew School, not in synagogue, not

from my mom or dad, not anywhere! And what I heard

A Seder to Remember by Rob Wertheim

My bar mitzvah (above), my wedding (right)

6 7

was from an

amazing source:

the Jewish

Scriptures—

Isaiah, no less.

Isaiah predicted

a servant who

was going to

suffer in the place

of others, to atone

for their sin. At the seder, they compared him to the

Passover lamb, whose blood caused death to pass over

our ancestors’ houses so many years ago. It felt like I

was hearing a Christian belief from the Jewish Bible—

yet it made sense.

I kept reminding myself that Jesus is simply not for

the Jews! Yet I could not dismiss what I had heard. I had

a strong sense that Steve might be right, and I knew I

would soon have to declare where I stood, no matter

what my parents thought.

Not long after this incident, some of Steve’s

Messianic Jewish friends, whom I had met in Los

Angeles, came to New York. They wanted to meet our

parents, and I encouraged my parents to invite them

over, which they did. The visit actually passed very

peacefully. Once again, the believers’ words about Jesus

seemed to ring true. I watched my parents as I listened,

and they seemed interested.

Eventually, our family was invited to attend a local

Bible study at the Jews for Jesus branch in New York

City. My parents and I showed up faithfully every week.

It became clear to me that, like Steve, I believed that

Jesus was the Messiah. I prayed, asking to have my sins

forgiven, and promised to follow Yeshua.

It turned out that my father had received Yeshua too,

right around the time I did! Mom was not happy, but

clearly she was struggling with the same issues the rest

of us had faced. Eventually, she also came to believe in

Jesus, and our family became even closer than we had

been before.

Six years later I married a Jewish woman, Sandy

Cohen, whose upbringing was similar to mine. She

had become a believer in Jesus just one year after I did.

We have three grown children, Saul, Rose and Joshua.

Sandy and I now live in San Francisco. I look forward to

celebrating Passover each year with my family, and with

renewed appreciation for the freedom our family has,

not only to carry on Jewish tradition and heritage, but to

worship God, to trust Him and tell others about Him, as I

believe we were meant to do. n

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Me (left), my parents Fred and Laura (above)

8

(continued from page 3) portrayed as a Jewish martyr—a

teacher who tried to bring about sustainable change

but was murdered because he upset the status quo.

And yet in the Brit Hadashah (New Testament) we read

that Yeshua knew that his calling was to give his life at

Passover for us and for all humanity. He knew what was

going to happen and he taught his talmidim (disciples) in

advance, at his last ever Passover seder.

Picture the scene: excitement and anticipation

were written on the faces of those present. All those

assembled could feel that something big was going

to happen soon. Perhaps Yeshua was really going to

challenge the Romans and lift the oppression. And then

he did something strange. After the meal, we read that

he took the cup, which is traditionally the third cup, the

cup of redemption, and said, “This cup that is poured out

for you is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:20).

We then read that he took the bread and said, “This is

my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance

of me” (Luke 22:19). The bread of affliction, the bread

without leaven, became a symbol for the death of the

Messiah. But it also became a symbol of our hope. As

an early follower of Jesus, Paul, puts it, “For our sake he

made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we

might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians

5:21). In other words, the unleavened Messiah became

leaven for us, so that we can become the unleavenedness

of God.

Before I came to faith in Yeshua as Messiah, I

lived a pretty decent life. Sure, I was mean to people

sometimes, didn’t

always tell the

truth, but for the

most part I didn’t

do anything really

bad. No murders,

only a little stealing—

nothing major. And yet

at one point I realized that even

though I hadn’t committed any crimes against the law

of the land, I was in major need of God’s forgiveness.

I came to understand that I wasn’t holy—quite the

opposite in fact. I was a slave to sin, and I needed

someone to forgive me and set me free. As Yeshua said,

“Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who practices sin is a

slave to sin . . . if the Son sets you free you will be free

indeed” (John 8:34, 36).

The rabbinic Jewish understanding of sin might

sound comforting to us, but in reality, it is an empty

comfort. For only through the Messiah can we really

deal with our sin problem. Paul, again, said it best,

“Cleanse out the old leaven that you may be a new

lump, as you really are unleavened. For Messiah, our

Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Let us therefore

celebrate the festival, not with the old leaven, the

leaven of malice and evil, but with the unleavened bread

of sincerity and truth” (1 Corinthians 5:7–8).

So maybe Passover isn’t as boring as my friend says.

And maybe there is something to eating matzah for these

eight nights—not to spur us on to try harder not to sin,

but as a reminder that someone already took on that sin

for us. This Passover, as you purge the leaven from your

home, why not ask the Messiah Yeshua to purge it from

your heart? n

Endnote

1. See for example this letter from the Lubavitcher Rebbe Menachem Schneerson: j4j.co/schneersonissues

Watch our “Passover in 60 Seconds” video, check out our Passover recipes and read bonus Passover articles, all located at j4j.co/issues21v10. Feel free to send your comments on this edition to: [email protected]

BONUS FEATURES

Before I came to faith in Yeshua as Messiah, I lived a pretty decent life.