The Hidden, Broken Matzah by Rabbi Lenore Bohm
We are fortunate to belong to an ancient religion which encourages thoughtful conversations and timeless questions. Almost 2000 years ago, the Mishnah taught that the purpose of a Seder isn’t fulfilled until at least one honest, authentic question has been asked. The part of the Seder called “Yachatz” gives us that opportunity.
“Yachatz” occurs when the middle of three pieces of matzah is broken in two. The smaller part is returned to the table, tucked in between the two remaining whole matzot, and the larger part is wrapped and hidden, to be sought, found, and eaten at the end of the Seder. During Yachatz, we pretend not to see the act of hiding. Later it is announced, “Time to search for the afikoman, the hidden, broken piece of matzah.”
Passover is a holiday about freedom and redemption. But it is also a holiday that reminds us to acknowledge the ways in which we are still slaves. It reminds us to seek, name, and examine the parts of us and others that are not free or redeemed, parts that are broken and hidden.
On the one hand, we point triumphantly to the whole matzah as a symbol of the slavery our ancestors escaped and the freedom they gained. On the other hand, the broken matzah suggests all the ways we are not yet free and whole. There will always be parts of our lives we hide, the parts of us that remain enslaved. We locate in the broken matzah our own cracked edges and unrealized potential.
The broken matzah represents things we avoid and reject. Blessings accompany many parts of the Seder, but no prayer is recited before we break the middle matzah. Until we search for this broken matzah, symbolized by the afikoman, we do not continue the Seder.
Searching for the afikomen prompts us to ask crucial questions: In our own lives and in the world beyond, what is broken and what needs repair? Why do we excuse our weaknesses and advertise our strengths? What can we learn from these weaknesses? Can we at least start to heal the fracture lines inside us and between ourselves and others?
Why do we hide the broken matzah, only to retrieve and consume it later? The Seder script prompts us to search for and hold aloft, for all to see, the found broken matzah, symbolic of all that is not as it seems. It is not surprising then that it is children, who sense our vulnerabilities so well, who triumphantly return to the table with the afikoman to announce in essence, “You can’t continue this celebration until you acknowledge whatever you try to hide from us and yourselves. Once you have done this or at least tried, then we can go on with the Seder.”
So, we negotiate the children’s claims and our responsibilities and then the Seder continues. But the Seder doesn’t end until each of us has eaten a piece of the broken matzah. If we are lucky, this chewing and swallowing prompts us to see that we are not yet completely free; we are still running away from some parts of ourselves, still slaves in some ways.
May each year’s Seder bring us closer to true freedom and redemption.