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April 16, 2014 / 16 Nisan, 5774
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Posts Tagged ‘Chad Gadya’

Chad Gadya – Pesach & the Order of Things

Wednesday, April 4th, 2012

As the Seder night ebbs away – long after the Four Questions have been asked and answered, after the festive meal has been eaten and the post-feast drowsiness descends, after the evening’s mitzvot have been observed and the fourth cup of wine emptied – we raise our voices in a curious, delightful, seemingly whimsical song at the end of the Haggadah.

The song is Chad Gadya, a lively tune that is one of the most popular of the many Pesach songs as well as one of the strangest.

On the surface, Chad Gadya appears to be nothing so much as a simple folk tune. Perhaps even a nursery rhyme suitable for the youngest among us, the very child who sang the Four Questions early in the Seder.

Like so many nursery rhymes – an egg perched upon a wall? A fork running away with a spoon? A cow jumping over the moon? Two young children tumbling down the hill? – it is filled with odd images and paradoxes.

What are we to make of these curious images? Likewise, what are we to make of a song that seems, on its surface, to be about the purchase of a goat? While it is possible to enjoy the song just in the singing, the paradoxes and troubling images draw us deeper as we search for meaning and significance.

Why have the rabbis placed this strange song in the Haggadah?

Certainly it keeps the children awake so that the end of the Seder is as filled with delight as its beginning. But more than that, the song is part of a sublime and meaningful religious/halachic experience.

A skeptical reader will no doubt ask: A religious experience? About goats? What does Chad Gadya – a song worthy of Dr. Seuss, a song that goes on and on about goats, cats, dogs, sticks and butchers – have to do with the leil shimurim, the night of geulah and redemp­tion?

Is this any way to conclude Sippur Yetziat Mitzrayim?

* * * * *

Among many other things, our ancient rabbis were brilliant educators. God had commanded that we teach our children. The question then became, How best to teach? How best to fulfill this commandment?

The answer: To engage and to reward. And to keep the focus on the student – the child. For Pesach is a holiday of children. And it is right that it is so. Our Egyptian servitude was made more painful for its cruelty to our children.

“And he said, When you deliver the Hebrew women look at the birthstool; if it is a boy, kill him.” With these words, Pharaoh sought to cut off our future by denying us a generation of children. He demanded that “every son that is born… be cast into the river.”

Why did Pharaoh cause such suffering for the Jewish people? For no other reason than we grew. We became numerous. We gave birth to children, in accordance with God’s command to “be fruitful and multiply.”

Pharaoh felt threatened by our numbers. “The children of Israel proliferated, swarmed, multiplied, and grew more and more.”

How great was Pharaoh’s hatred of the Jews and our children? How threatened did he feel? So threatened that the Midrash teaches us that when the Israelites fell short in fulfilling the prescribed quota of mortar and bricks, the children were used in their stead to fill in the foundation of the store cities built in their servitude. Another Midrash describes Pharaoh bathing in the blood of young children.

When redemption was finally at hand, children were once again at the forefront of this historical and religious drama. When Moses first confronted Pharaoh with the request to be free to go into the desert to worship, he proclaimed, “We will go with our young and with our old, with our sons and with our daughters.” In making this proclamation, he was giving voice to the ultimate purpose of our redemption, found in the central command of Pesach, “You will tell your son on that day, saying: It is because of this the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt…”

Judaism is a faith rooted in the past but which is always forward looking. Tradition loses meaning unless it is passed forward to the next generation. We do not look for individual redemption so much as communal salvation.

For that to happen, our children must thrive. They must go forward with a solid foundation in the godly lessons of our history. The Exodus from Egypt is rife with the significant role our children played in its historical narrative.

Perhaps Chad Gadya, in its guise of a nursery rhyme, is no different from the afikoman, one more in a series of games and songs and techniques to stimulate and motivate the interest and curiosity of the youngest among us on the Seder night.

A Jewish Art Primer (Part III) – Jewish Painting: The Past and Future Collide

Wednesday, May 17th, 2006

As the Enlightenment marched across Europe in the form of the Napoleonic conquests, the effects on Jewish Art were unmistakable. Ghetto walls were breached and torn down, exposing the Jewish population and its artists to myriad Christian and secular influences. While traditional Judaica continued to be fashioned by artisans, synagogues ornamented and books and Haggadahs illustrated, many Jewish artists now became aware of another kind of artistic expression – the art object itself. Painting became a legitimate mode of Jewish cultural expression. In this outburst of artistic freedom, Moritz Oppenheim (1800-1882) is the undisputed father of Jewish painting in the 19th century.


Oppenheim was born in the ghetto in Hanau, Germany. Educated in cheder and Talmud Torah, he nonetheless made a quick transition to secular studies and art school upon the emancipation of the Jews in 1806. After studying in Frankfurt, Munich, Paris and Rome he returned to Frankfurt to pursue a successful career, painting society portraits (especially the Rothschilds) and academic visions of Biblical scenes. In 1865 he launched upon a series depicting scenes of 18th century Jewish life, much like the world of his childhood. This series, Pictures of Traditional Jewish Family Life, would become his most lasting contribution to Jewish Art. These images of Shabbos, Yom Tov, weddings and many other Jewish communal and family scenes were quickly reproduced in bound albums and were soon found in almost every German Jewish home. They were the encapsulation of the world that once was and was now slowly disappearing.


Oppenheim’s work represents the seminal encounter between Jewish tradition and the challenges of the modern world. The Pictures of Traditional Jewish Family Life became a visual anchor for many Jews caught in the sweep of emancipation, nationalism and modernity. Providing a sense of identity, even with a sentimental vision of a vanishing Jewish world, would help to keep Jews in the fold for at least another generation.


That next generation could be characterized by Maurycy Gottlieb (1856-1879), a singular artist from eastern Galicia (Drohobycz), who painted the masterpiece Jews Praying on the Day of Atonement in 1878, one year before he died at the age of 23. He was the child of progressive parents, studied at art schools in Lemberg and Vienna and quickly began painting subjects of Polish history, Shakespeare and the Bible, including some Christian scenes. In his brief career, he saw both his Jewish heritage and all of European civilization as his cultural birthright. While stillborn, his work seeks to thrust Jewish subjects and sensibilities into the heart of modern thought. Oppenheim looked to the past while Gottlieb yearned for the future.


Isidor Kaufmann (1853-1921) continues the movement of Jewish Art into the Modern through a wonderfully subversive methodology. Born in Arad, Hungary, Kaufmann took up painting in Vienna and was soon drawn to the mysterious world of the shtetl and Hassidic life in Galicia, Poland and Ukraine. In annual field trips, he would collect images; portraits, costumes, interiors and genre scenes that would be transformed into glistening narrative gems of Jewish life for his eager customers. These customers were assimilated, rich Viennese Jews. His best works, mainly portraits of young Hassidic men and women impeccably dressed for Yom Tov, are beautifully and simply composed paintings that reveal subtle psychological insights. A masterful sensitivity opens up the vibrant inner life of his subjects and transforms clich



és into a powerful combination of psychology and flat modern image-making. Kaufmann, always the realist bound to 19th century aesthetics, nonetheless brings Freud’s revelations to bear on a shallow modern pictorial space.


For Jews the leap into Modern Art was made in the cauldrons of revolution – Bolshevik Russia, Zionist Palestine and Paris, France. In the work of El Lissitzky (1890-1941), modernity subsumes tradition. Chad Gadya is his Jewish Art masterpiece. He grew up in Vitebsk, Russia, and after the 1917 revolution joined Chagall, teaching in the Vitebsk art school. Deeply involved in the movement to recreate Jewish culture in Russia – especially in the publication and illustration of Yiddish books – his Chad Gadya of color lithographs were published in Kiev in 1919. Soon after, El Lissitzky turned his attention to the most radical modern art movement of the time, Constructivism. Along with fellow Russian, Casimir Malevich, he created a totally abstract visual language, merging aspects of painting and architecture. The seeds of this new vision are clearly visible in Chad Gadya. Combining vivid imagery (such as the savage fury of the red cat leaping over the slain goat), a text border and bold abstract shapes, the artist breaks out of 19th century naturalism into the drama and uncertainty of a new age.


That new age is, in many ways, the world we still live in. Subsequent Jewish Art would continue to struggle between textual traditions and visual innovations we associate with Modern Art. We shall see, however, that this matrix, which seems superficially to create tension and conflict, actually is the source of much of the 20th century’s visual language.


Richard McBee is a painter and writer on Jewish Art. Please feel free to contact him with comments at rmcbee@nyc.rr.com

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/a-jewish-art-primer-part-iii-jewish-painting-the-past-and-future-collide/2006/05/17/

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