Passover is a joyful holiday. It is a time for celebrating our redemption, not reveling in the pain of the past. So why do we eat maror? The biblical mitzvah of maror is to eat it with the paschal lamb. Without a Temple to offer sacrifices, this mitzvah cannot be performed today. But the rabbinic mitzvah to eat maror still applies. Some say we eat maror nowadays to remember the Temple and the bitterness of its loss.

This teaches that eating maror is a meditation on our own lives’ bitterness, not the bitterness of slavery in Mitzrayim. So why should we dwell on that bitterness during this joyful holiday? Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady offers some deep insight in the classic Chasidic text, The Tanya. He draws a distinction between depression, atzvut (a word derived from a Hebrew root meaning ‘constriction’) and bitterness, merirut. Depression hardens our hearts, making them numb as stones and draining them of vitality. Bitterness, on the other hand, is a sign of life. By feeling bitter about something’s brokenness, we recognize its potential to be repaired. 

When we watch violent oppressors have free reign over the world, it’s natural for hopelessness to set in, which in turn leads to isolation, self-loathing, self-pity, and apathy. It’s easy to see all that is wrong in the world, sigh, and retreat into ourselves. But shutting out the world’s brokenness will only reveal the brokenness of our own hearts—and therein lies possibility for growth. The Tanya says that times of depression are opportune moments for cheshbon nefesh, “spiritual accounting.” First we search our souls for chametz, the things that block compassion, then for afikomen, the hidden shards of light that give us the power to change. 

Acknowledging our brokenness is the first step of transformation and the key to changing our depression to joy. This is why we dip maror in charoset: to show that through taking a long, hard look at the oppressive narratives we’ve internalized, we are able to unlearn and overcome them. Through bitter reflection, we can crack the protective shells we’ve made around our hearts and let love and joy in. And by refusing to turn away from the world’s violent brokenness, we find the power to act.


haggadah Section: Maror
Source: Min Ha-Meitzar: An Abolitionist Haggadah from the Narrow Place by Noraa Kaplan