Passover Seder night is all about the faculty of speech. We talk, explain, pose questions and offer answers, discuss, and recount the story of our people. Indeed, the Hebrew word for Passover, “Pesah,” could be a portmanteau for peh sah – “the mouth speaks.”
Toward the end of the night, we recite Hallel – prayers of praise. Hallel traditionally comes in three forms – Full Hallel, Half Hallel, and The Great Hallel. Full Hallel is the standard for festivals, and it is recited at the Seder (Psalms 113-118). The Half Hallel is the same as Full Hallel, with the omission of certain verses (as above, omitting 115:1-11; 116:1-11). Half Hallel is recited on Rosh Hodesh, as well as on the intermediate days of Passover. The Great Hallel is part of the morning prayers on Shabbat and festivals; but as far as unique rituals, The Great Hallel is recited only on the Seder night as an addendum to Full Hallel (Shulhan Aruch OH 180:1). The sages disputed what is included in The Great Hallel (Pesahim 118a). The accepted opinion is that The Great Hallel is Psalms 136, where each of the 26 verses ends with the refrain “For His kindness endures forever.”
Thus the faculty of speech is fully activated on the first night of Passover, and the annual Seder could be seen as a celebration of speech. In stark contrast, the seventh day of Passover is relatively silent.
The seventh day of Passover commemorates the splitting of the Reed Sea, but there is little speech that goes along with this festival. This is the only festival when the blessing for novelties and special occasions, Sheheheyanu, is not recited and only Half Hallel is included in the prayer service.
To be sure, over the ages liturgical poems have been composed for this day, and various rituals evolved. Kabbalists, for example, hold a special vigil. Hassidic communities and those who follow the practices of the Vilna Gaon (1720-1797) have an extra meal as the day wanes. However, there are no unique texts and traditions that are practiced by all communities on the seventh day of Passover.
The difference in the soundscape between the first day of Passover and the seventh day is not apparent from the biblical instruction to observe these days as festivals. In the Bible, both days are mentioned as festive days when work is forbidden (Exodus 12:15-16; Leviticus 23:6-8; Numbers 28:16-25). In one passage, only the seventh day is singled out as a day of rest (Deuteronomy 16:1-8). How, then, should we understand the glaring difference in the commemoration rituals for these two days?
The relative silence on Passover’s seventh day may hark back to the biblical account of the splitting of the Reed Sea. As the Children of Israel stand at the water’s edge and see the Egyptian army massing behind them, they cry out to God. They then turn to Moses and complain that they have left Egypt only to be slaughtered in the desert. Moses reassures them:
“Fear not! Stand by and witness the deliverance which the Lord will do for you today.... The Lord will battle for you, and you will be silent” (Exodus 14:13-14).
It was not just the Children of Israel who were told to be still and calm while God provided salvation. It seems that Moses turned to the Almighty to ask for assistance because the following verse has a further instruction for silence, as God told Moses to desist from reciting prayers:
“Then the Lord said to Moses: ‘Why do you cry out to me? Speak to the Children of Israel, and they will travel” (Exodus 14:15).
Following the miraculous deliverance, the freed slaves led by their leaders would break out in song. At this point, however, Moses and the Children of Israel were told that it was not a time for using the faculty of speech.
With this background, it is no wonder that the festival commemorating this moment is not inundated with words.
THE HASSIDIC master of Aleksander, Rabbi Avraham Menahem Dancyger (1921-2005), noted God’s instruction not to pray, and he wondered: “At first blush, this is staggering – when Jews are in trouble what are they supposed to do if not offer lengthy prayers?!”
Drawing on Jewish mystical tradition, the Aleksander Rebbe explained that silence is a loftier level than prayer. Indeed, strands of hassidic tradition laud silence as a form of prayer.
Dancyger was a contemporary hassidic master, but this approach dates back to the nascent era of Hassidism. Rabbi Pinhas Shapira of Korzec (1726-1791) reportedly said that when a tragedy befalls a person and that person is greatly pained, there is nothing to be done besides trusting in God’s kindness. He explained:
“And then he should not do anything, nor any medical procedure at all, just to trust. And he should not even pray to the Holy One, blessed be He, and he should not go to the mikveh or the like, just trust” (Midrash Pinhas).
The directive from Rabbi Pinhas of Korzec not to seek medical advice is foreign to our modern thinking. It is even more arresting to hear him, as a religious leader, call for a cessation of prayer and rituals. Elsewhere in his writings, he related that the spiritual tool of silence can be more potent than prayer (Imrei Pinhas).
How should we understand the spiritual power of silence?
In a number of passages, Rabbi Zadok Hakohen of Lublin (1823-1900) waxed on the mystical valence of silence. In the context of the silence that was demanded from the Children of Israel as they stood between the sea and the Egyptian army, he offered an explanation for the spiritual significance of silence (Pri Tzaddik).
Calling out in prayer and beseeching God to answer our supplications involves an element of entitlement, perhaps even temerity. We assume that the Almighty will listen to our voices and consider our requests, and we hope that God will acquiesce. Moreover, we audaciously expect that the creator of the world will make changes to that world based on what we want.
In contrast, silence reflects humility. We sense that we may not deserve deliverance, that our conduct as a collective does not command salvation. It is at this moment when we cast away arrogance, when we do not have the audacity to speak, when there is a sound of silence that the Almighty miraculously splits the sea and provides ultimate redemption from bondage. ■
The writer is a senior faculty member at the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, senior lecturer at Bar-Ilan University’s Faculty of Law, and rabbi in Tzur Hadassah.