Shabbat Hagadol 5779 Encouraging Questions - Toward Creating a Welcoming Environment for Inquiry

Rav Yosef Tzvi Rimon - Shirat Miriam (pg. 163-164)

The answer to all the sons begin with ve'amarta or ve'amartem - "you shall say" - with the exception of the one who is unable to ask, which begins with vehigadeta - "you shall tell" using a different verb root (see Or HaChaim, Exodus 13:8). What is the difference between the verb אמר and the verb הגד? Rashi (on Exodus 13:5) explains that "vehigadeta levincha" refers to the son who does not know how to ask, and the verse teaches us that one must speak to him "in words of aggadah, which draw him in." With this, Rashi teaches us that one must employ different educational approaches, according to the child's nature. Sometimes, a parent or educator should take an intellectual approach (the wise son), and sometimes one ought not to answer the child at all (the wicked son). Again, one might use stories or other imaginative approaches (the aggadah "draws him in") so that the child will be eager to listen and accept our words.

From this we learn an important rule: one should not give the same answer to all children, nor should one attempt to give the same education to all children. Each must be given an education suited to his or her own needs. Some parents try to create equality among their children, to approach each of them the exact same way. This method is liable to be detrimental to their children's education, for each must receive what is best for him or her. A parent or educator should take care to address, teach, and even play with each child in a way that is best suited to their child's character.

The son who does not know how to ask is not wicked. Sometimes, however, this type of child is the most difficult to teach. The wicked son, at least, reacts to what he sees. The fourth son's inability to ask, however, may stem from indifference. Even a negative response is at least a response. In fact, it might eventually lead the person to examine matters more closely, and even to reject his wicked lifestyle. (Many of our great rabbis were individuals who i their younger years had rebelled and fought against religion). This is why it is so difficult to teach the child who does not ask. A child who is indifferent to the Exodus and our redemption from slavery may have a deep flaw in his character, perhaps even a certain tinge of the wicked sons attitude. This is why both of these sons are linked to the same verse in the Torah. The son who does not know how to ask is not opposed to anything; he is simply indifferent to what happened. That is why, while we do not answer the wicked son, we try to involve the son who does not know how to ask by drawing him in through stories.

Rabbi Eliezer Melamed - The Laws of Pesah (pg. 198-199)

There is a mitzva to tell the story of the Exodus by way of question and answer, as it is stated . . . .

Questions open the heart and mind to accept answers. The message we need to convey on the Seder night is so important that we are commanded to do it in the most effective way - by way of question and answer.

This is the main reason for the unique mitzvot of the Seder night: eating matza, the Paschal sacrifice, and maror. They cause the children to ask, "Ma nishtana?" "Why is this night different?" and helps them understand that this is a special night whose essence must be understood. As a result, the Sages instituted several unusual practices in order to inspire the children to wonder and enquire further. We begin by giving the children nuts and roasted grain, through which they realize that this is a special, festive night. The Sages instituted washing hands and eating karpas dipped in a liquid after kiddush, something we never do throughout the year. Furthermore, instead of starting the meal at this point, we pour the second cup of wine and remove the Seder plate ad the matzot from the table, all to cause the children to realize that this is a very special night. They will thus truly be interested in its meaning, and they will sincerely ask: "Why is this night different?"

It can be said that the question, "Ma nishtana? embodies a bigger and deeper question about the Jewish people: Why are we different from all other nations - in our faith, in our mitzvot, in our suffering, in our spiritual achievements, in our exile, and in our redemption? There is no complete answer to this question. Only by contemplating the Exodus from Egypt and the election of Israel can we understand that this is a divine matter; we are capable of understanding part of it, but we will never understand it all. This same question spurs us on, toward infinitely deeper and more sublime understanding. Perhaps this is why the Torah instructs us to tell the story of the Exodus and of Israel's singularity using questions and answers: the ideological basis of Jewish peoplehood lies in a question that opens us to an endless profusion of ideas. If we do not impart the Torah and story of the Exodus to the children, no new questions would be asked, and we would be unable to continue rising higher.

Frankel, Estelle. The Wisdom of Not Knowing: Discovering a Life of Wonder by Embracing Uncertainty (pp. 26-40)

Through their practice of radical hospitality, Abraham and Sarah set out to create a new kind of society, one based on love and generosity, rooted in an awareness of the oneness and interconnectedness of all being. This society would stand in stark contrast to the neighboring communities of Sodom and Gomorrah, where strangers and outsiders were unwelcome. In fact, offering hospitality to a stranger or giving charity to those in need were considered to be capital crimes in Sodom and Gomorrah, punishable by death! As an archetypal symbol, the “stranger” represents not just someone in need of kindness but also the transmitter of new and unknown ideas and possibilities. To open the door to the stranger is a means of inviting in the unknown. It requires a willingness to be shaped and altered by new ideas and experiences. Sometimes a single encounter with a stranger can open up doors to unknown possibilities that forever change our lives. Xenophobia, in contrast, is an expression of a fear of the unknown and unfamiliar. . .

Part of the magic of being around children is that we get to re-experience life as miraculous and full of possibilities. Children are naturally curious and eager to learn what they do not know. We are all curious as children, but growing up our innate curiosity often gets muted by well-meaning but misguided parents and educators who convey the message that it is not OK to ask questions. And even in the best of circumstances, many of us lose touch with our curiosity simply because we have become too familiar with life’s many wonders. The double meaning of the word wonder suggests that our capacity to wonder about things—to be curious—derives from the feeling of wonder. In states of awe and wonder, we come to our senses and are fully present in the moment. Instead of getting stuck in our idea of reality, we can experience life with immediacy and see the sparkle in everything around us. . .

Questioning is an important part of Jewish culture, both religious and secular. Talmudic pedagogy, which involves series of Q&As followed by more Q&As, left an imprint on the Jewish mind. A classic Jewish joke describes a man asking his rabbi why he always answers a question with another question, to which the rabbi replies: “Why not?” Clearly, the questions are more important than the answers in this joke. In fact, the question is the answer for the rabbi. The sacred role of questioning in Jewish life is most apparent on Passover night at the seder, when the ritual retelling of the Israelites’ journey to freedom begins with the asking of the four questions. Traditionally the youngest child present recites these questions. But even when children are absent, every grown-up, even the most learned, is obliged to ask these four questions. Interestingly, the Haggadah3 does not offer direct answers to these questions and, instead, goes on to tell the story of the Exodus from the very beginning with an account of how the Israelites came to be slaves in the first place. It seems that asking good questions is more important than providing answers on seder night. Throughout the seder participants are encouraged to ask as many questions as possible related to the story of the Exodus and the meaning of the holiday.

All freedom journeys require an open mind—a mind that is not conditioned by past knowledge and experience, but open to possibility. Questioning opens the doors of our imagination, enabling us to consider alternatives to the status quo. Unless one is capable of imagining another possible reality, one cannot free oneself from bondage.

The four questions begin with the Hebrew phrase mah nishtana, which can be translated either as “What is different?” or “What is changing?” Like the famous Zen koan that asks “What is this?” the four questions are an invitation to pay attention and be curious about what is happening in this very moment. They call our attention to the fact that things are not the same moment to moment, but constantly changing. Mah nishtana is also an invitation for each of us to leave behind old habits of mind and rigid patterns that no longer serve us and, in fact, enslave us. These habits can become our personal mitzrayim, our place of limitation and constriction.4 The seder intentionally mixes things up, changing the traditional order of things with the intent of shaking us and waking us up. This is how we unlock the gates of freedom: we pay attention, become curious, and formulate questions. Our questions open up possibilities for change. Every year at my seder, I place a question mark on my guests’ dinner plate alongside the ritual foods they will eat. This is my way of inviting them to reflect on the questions they need to ask themselves.

Passover is a time when I ask myself whether I have a good question to live into. I am reminded of a question a teacher of mine once asked: “What is the question that your life is the answer to?” I still do not know the answer, but the question has stuck in my mind and continues to resonate. In Letters to a Young Poet the poet Rilke talks about the importance of living and loving the questions rather than seeking the answers:

I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them.

And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.5 Questions open up the doors of our imagination. On seder night this is ritually enacted by opening up the actual, literal doors of our homes. There, standing at the threshold, we invite in the stranger and the spirit of the unknown.