How I Met Your Mother
For nine years I have been a devoted fan of the television program “How I Met Your Mother.” I was introduced to the group of friends navigating their 20’s in New York City when I myself was a 20something navigating life in New York City. The show continued to parallel my life as the characters married, had children and effectively “grew up.” What made “How I Met Your Mother” unique is that it was told from the future. While the show itself aired from 2005 to 2014, the story spanned from 1996 through 2030. In the future, a man named Ted is telling his children the story of how he met their mother. The writer’s took liberties with timelines, jumping forward and backward in time throughout the series. And finally, on Monday night, some 200 episodes later, the audience watched as Ted finally met “the mother.”
At the train platform, under the yellow umbrella that had been a symbol throughout the series, Ted met Tracy. I wanted that to be the end of the telling of the story. It wasn’t. I’ll say no more, lest I spoil the finale for those who have not yet seen it, but please, if you have seen it, come talk with me during Kiddush, I’m still working it all out in my mind.
The creative narrative of How I Met Your Mother invites to ask the questions—where does a story begin and where does a story end? These are the same questions that we can ask regarding the story of Passover.
Where does the story of Passover begin? Think for a moment about where you would start to tell the story? Do we begin with baby Moses floating down the Nile River? Do we start with Joseph bringing the Israelites to Egypt or with the decree of Pharaoh that the Israelites are to become a class of slaves?
As far back as the rabbinic period we have discussions addressing this question. It had been taught that, in telling the story at the seder, one should “begin with disgrace and end with praise.” Our sages, Rav and Shmuel offered differing opinions as to what the “disgrace” was that should start the story. For Rav, “disgrace” was a reference to our ancestors who worshipped idols. For Shmuel the “disgrace” was the fact that “we were slaves in Egypt.” How have we solved this problem in our tradition? We tell the story both ways. First we follow the wisdom of Shmuel.
We say, “avadim hayinu l’pharaoh b’mitzrayim—we were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt.” Later in the seder we tell the story in accordance with Rav. “Matchila ovdei avodah zarah hayu avoteinu—In the beginning, our ancestors were idol worshippers.” This section invites us to begin the story generations prior to our Egyptian bondage, choosing instead the introduction of God to Abraham and Sarah—the birth of the Israelite community.
Both Rav and Shmuel sought to identify the moment in our history that could be identified as our greatest disgrace. For Rav it was the fact that our ancestors were idol worshippers. For Shmuel it was the fact that we were slaves. But their divergent starting points of the story can be explored through a different lens as well.
Shmuel’s version of the story, “we were slaves in Egypt…” gets right to the point. This method focuses us on an underlying theme of the holiday; we have to remember our slavery to understand and appreciate our freedom. Rav’s version provides us with an historical back story, inviting us to remember how we came to Egypt and who we were before we were slaves.
Notice that, in constructing the hagaddah, our tradition did not put these stories in chronological order. Shmuel’s story comes first. I’d like to suggest that this placement invites us to begin by focusing directly on the themes of slavery and freedom that underlie the holiday. Only after we have identified and started to address these themes can we enhance our account with flashbacks to further inform our understanding of our history.
This is a lesson that I derived from “How I Met Your Mother.” It did not begin telling the story in 1996. It started in 2005, letting the audience know that our focus would be this group of friends in the current day. But slowly it began to integrate flashbacks that greatly informed our understanding of the characters.
The answer to the question of where the telling of the Passover story should begin is based on one’s goal in telling it. If we seek to introduce and emphasize certain themes, then starting with “we were slaves,” helps to ensure that our learners will grasp these concepts. If, however, we seek to give a broader historical context through which to understand the story, then starting with Abraham helps to frame the story. Our hagaddah maintains both traditions as a way to remind us that there are multiple entry points to any story.
Where does the Passover story end? In a sense, we have inherited the ultimate spoiler. We start the maggid section—the telling–, in accordance with Shmuel, “Avadim hayinu l’pharaoh b’mitzrayim—we were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt,” and the very next words are, “vayotzi-einu adonai eloheinu misham b’yad chazakah ooveezroa nituya—and God brought us out from there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm.” In the span of mere seconds we’ve moved from establishing our history of slavery to knowing that, through God, we will be saved. There was a parallel to this in an episode of How I Met Your Mother. Ted’s father turns to him and says, “I never told you the story of how I met your mother? Funny story, it was in a bar.” Here, Ted is telling his kids an elaborate story, spanning decades, and his father answers the question with one sentence. But with that answer, so many details are missing.
We also need to consider the idea leaving Egypt might not truly be the end of the story. Our beloved song, dayeinu, teaches, “ilu hotziyanu mimitzrayim, dayeinu—had God only brought us out from Egypt, it would have been enough.” This act in and of itself was awesome. But this segment of our seder invites us to ask the question, “would it have truly been enough?” Dayeinu provides a list of fifteen Divine Favors. It sees us through the Exodus from Egypt, the safe crossing of the sea, the Revelation at Sinai and leads us all the way to the establishment of the Holy Land and the building of the Temple. Because the establishment of the Temple in Jerusalem ends the “dayeinu” list, it can be understood as suggesting that this was the true culmination of the Passover story. Only when the Israelites had their own place to worship in their own land had they truly realized freedom.
The maggid section continues along these lines, reminding us that, “God brought us out from Egypt to lead us to the land that had been promised to our ancestors.” This is the canonized end of the story, and it serves as a nice bookend, particularly to Rav’s version of the story. Our ancestors encountered God and were promised the land, here we realize that promise.
I’d like to suggest an alternative ending for the story. My belief is that it is infinite. Just as we reached backward to our idol worshipping ancestors to lay the groundwork for our story, so too must we reach forward. Only when we examine how the role of the God’s bringing us out of Egypt affects us today have we fully addressed and appreciated it. The text hints at this idea. “In every generation, each of us is obligated to feel as though we personally took part in the Exodus from Egypt.” With this, our ancestors’ story becomes our story, and our story becomes theirs.
Shabbat Shalom