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BEYOND THE DOOR:For a Formatted PDF of this article, click here.BEYOND THE DOOR: PROPOSING A NEW INTERPRETATION OF ESCHATOLOGICAL EXPECTATIONS DURING THE PASSOVER-SEDER by Dipl.-Theol. Florian Albrod ABSTRACT The article compares traditional and liberal English and German Haggadot, analyzing the ritual of opening the door during the Passover-Seder in order to curse the nations and invite the prophet Elijah. Based on criticism towards mechanisms of “othering” in Judaism and Passover as raised by a leading contemporary Israeli philosopher, as well as on mitigating changes made to the ritual in the tradition of Liberal Judaism, the article proposes a new understanding of the passage in question. That which lies beyond the door, inconsistently characterized as being both a place of messianic expectation and danger from the gentile, should instead be re-imagined as a place of peaceful coexistence between Elijah and the gentiles, to be virtually un-locked by those celebrating Passover. Reflecting on interreligious theological thinking, this is shown to be an eschatological act. INTRODUCTION[1] Passover is among the most meaningful celebrations in Judaism. With a history evidenced not only in biblical, but pre-biblical religious practice,[2] it has developed into a ritual commemoration of the founding event that defines Jewish history:[3] The Israelites' salvation from ancient Egypt through God's intervention and the subsequent covenant between God and Israel. Said commemoration is an ambivalent one: On the one hand, it is an expression of joy and humility for being freed from slavery and being selected as God's chosen people. At the same time, Passover serves as a bitter reminder of the many enemies of Israel who followed those mythological Egyptians in trying to enslave or destroy Judaism. Thus, Passover is also a celebration of continued survival,[4] of overcoming current threats, and hoping for future salvation. On the evening of the first, or first two nights, of Passover, the story of the Israelites' exodus from Egypt is retold, while those partaking in the ritual share a symbolic meal, and fulfill a number of traditional, sometimes deeply earnest, sometimes playful actions. The structure of the evening, the Seder, is defined by the reading of the Passover-Haggadah. While the Haggadah mostly expresses joy for Israel's continued salvation and a, sometimes, melancholic hope for its future deliverance, critics have noted that some parts of the Passover ceremony seem belligerent or spiteful towards Non-Jews, i.e. the gentiles. This essay will take a closer look at one of those occurrences and propose a new interpretation of the passage in question. After a quick walkthrough of the passage (I), we will at first deal with some of the critical positions towards Passover (II), the most notable among them being advanced by Israeli philosopher Adi Ophir, before presenting our own take on the problem at hand (III). The essay concludes with a contemplation on interreligious (eschatological) thinking between Judaism and Christianity (IV) that serves the double purpose of legitimizing our taking to the question despite writing from a Christian point of view. Our understanding of the Passover-Seder is shaped by our own copy of the Haggadah, edited by Rabbi Michael Shire (currently of Boston Hebrew College, a German translation of which has been published in association with the Abraham Geiger Kolleg of Potsdam University in 2013). R. Shire's interpretation of Passover adapts the text of the Haggadah edited by the British Union of Liberal and Progressive Synagogues[5] (now Liberal Judaism) in 1996, that puts a special emphasis on themes of peace and responsibility, thereby influencing our own approach to the Passover-ritual. Where the texts of R. Shire's Haggadah and the Union's version deviate from one another, or from more common Haggadot, as is the case with the passage analyzed below, we shall point out the differences. If in doubt, we will refer to the Passover-Haggadah edited by Rabbi Robert Raphael Geis and published by Allgemeine Wochenzeitung der Juden in Deutschland (1954) as presented by fellow recipient of the Buber-Rosenzweig-Medal Schalom Ben-Chorin. Although R. Geis was a liberal Rabbi engaged in interreligious and intercultural dialogue himself,[6] his edition of the Haggadah lends itself as a template for comparison as it is free of ideological alterations made to the text, maintaining critical passages that other versions omit. It in turn represents an adoption of the classically conservative Haggadah edited by Ernst Daniel Goldschmidt in 1936. There are, of course, a multitude of Haggadot available today,[7] in Germany and elsewhere (e.g. the United States and Israel). Some of them might have been equally suited to our purposes. We feel, however, that the versions we chose to compare[8] for the present article act as highly reputable sources as all of them are connected to recognized religious and academic institutions or to scholars of renown. While these versions will continue to serve us as a foundation for our analysis, we will also consult the key existing American and Israeli literature on the topic in order to integrate the readings that have influenced us into the wider scholarly debate. Accordingly, it should be noted, that the sources we cite in this essay stem from a variety of cultural backgrounds. It is, therefore, possible that American readers will encounter ideas that may seem self-evident, though novel to others (and vice versa). In addition, different cultural circumstances may lend peculiar layers of interpretation to different readings of the Haggadah. Certain customs may be typically American, a translation may carry a special connotation in the German language, or an idea may have strong political implications when read in a modern Israeli context.[9] That being said, it is not our aim to focus on a single staked-out, predetermined field of interpretation. Instead, we will adhere to a rough distinction between “liberal” and “traditional” readings and otherwise make full use of the imaginative diversity of the existing material. I. THE OPENING OF THE DOOR During the course of the Seder, the participants each have to drink four cups of wine, each symbolizing one of the promises made by God to the Israelites according to Ex 6,6f.[10] The passage of the Passover-Haggadah that shall concern us in this essay follows upon the finishing of the third glass of wine. In the liberal versions we analyzed, the fourth cup of wine is poured at this point. Following this, R. Shire and the Union's version have slightly different orders, the Union's version now interposing the second part of the Psalms-group known as Hallel and songs in praise that conclude with the drinking of the fourth cup. R. Shire's and the Union's text converge again in pouring a fifth glass for the prophet Elijah, (R. Geis' traditional version only has four cups, the last one being poured only after the following passage,[11]) and the door of the house is opened. Next, according to R. Shire's and the Union's versions, the Seder community reads out the biblical text Mal 3,23-24a missing in more common Haggadot (the Union's version framing the verses with some supplemental material) in which Elijah, who had previously been carried up alive to heaven according to 2 Kings 2,11, is prophesized to return before the eschatological Day of the Lord.[12] Afterwards, passages from two Psalms (Ps 79,6-7; Ps 69,25) and Lamentations (Eichah 3,66) are recited (omitted in the Union's version), wishing ill upon the nations that do not believe in the (Jewish) God and who have proven to be a threat for the people of Israel, beginning with the verse that gives the passage its name: “Pour out thy wrath (שפך חמתך) upon the heathen that have not known thee, and upon the kingdoms that have not called upon thy name.[13]” Finally, the door is closed again and those partaking in the Seder praise God by singing the above-mentioned second part of the Hallel (the Union's version now having merry songs). There are multiple interpretations of why exactly the door is opened. According to R. Shire and the Union, the ritual symbolizes the hope for the “Messianic Age”[14] preceded by the second coming of Elijah. Those celebrating Passover have already prayed for the prophet's arrival in a passage of the “Blessing after the Meal”[15] which precedes the rite at issue here. In addition, R. Shire and the Union quote Eisler, who assumes that the traditional game of hide-and-seek with the Afikoman, a piece of Mazza-bread singled out at the beginning of the Seder, likewise refers to the yet-to-be-revealed Messiah.[16] It is to R. Shire's and especially the Union's credit that they apply a universalistic understanding of Messianism to the passage in question [see below, Chapter III] that anticipates and influences our own approach.[17] The messianic understanding of the open door stands to reason and is shared by Galley who notes that the opening of the door is also a reference to the opening of the ancient temple's gates in Jerusalem at midnight on Passover.[18] In a different context, Galley describes a mystic tradition from the Kabbalah concerning Sukkot. According to said tradition, the pious is visited by seven “holy guests” in his tent over the course of the festivities, starting with Abraham and ending with David.[19] Elijah plays no part in this; however, the motif of a divine visitor seems somewhat similar to that of Passover. R. Shire notes in turn that Elijah is not only expected during Passover, but also at the end of a Sabbath as well as during ritual circumcision.[20] Conversely, Golinkin gives some examples of the door being opened for more earthly visitors, that is, for the poor and hungry, according to the verse recited near the start of the Seder: “[W]hoever is hungry, let him come and eat; whoever is needy, let him come and make Pesah.”[21] Nevertheless, Golinkin, too, knows of the more metaphysical Elijah-tradition as well.[22] Ben-Chorin is also aware of the Elijah-tradition but offers a different explanation for the prophet's appearance. According to Ben-Chorin, there had been a conflict between the followers of the great Rabbis Hillel and Schammai about the correct interpretation of Ex 6,6f. The followers of Schammai were of the opinion that V8 and its promise of the holy land should be included in the Seder as well, thus demanding a fifth glass of wine to be poured. Since the dispute could not be decided, the cup was to be poured but left untouched until Elijah would return to decide the question – a role that was in turn attributed to him based on a wordplay with the Aramaic term for an unsolved problem.[23] According to Ben-Chorin, the popular messianic interpretation is a later one,[24] the second coming of Elijah “not [being] originally intended,”[25] by the Seder ritual, that is, at least not as a purely messianic idea. Ben-Chorin goes on to show that instead of the “friendly”[26] purpose of inviting the returned prophet, the opening of the door could be explained by two altogether different concepts as well. The first one is a pragmatical one: Since Passover is celebrated close to Christian Easter when Christians commemorate the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, it was often accompanied in medieval Europe by an increase in Anti-Judaism and the old accusation of Jews being the murderers of Christ.[27] The enemies of Judaism used a legend about Jews murdering children and taking their blood to prepare the Mazza-bread eaten during Passover to incriminate them, even going so far as to lay down the bodies of dead children in front of Jewish houses to falsely accuse them of infanticide.[28] According to Ben-Chorin, the opening of the door could have served the purpose of checking one's doorstep for a maliciously deposited corpse.[29] The second interpretation proposed by Ben-Chorin is that the door is opened to “let out the curses” uttered during the recitation of the verses from Psalms and Lamentations, describing this understanding of the ritual as a “magic” one.[30] Ophir, in noting that the Haggadah has a continuing influence on contemporary Jewish thought, the traditional text still being regularly read even by secular Jews in modern Israel,[31] would agree that the invitation of Elijah, to whom he attributes the role of a “Jewish Santa Claus”,[32] distracts from a darker interpretation of the opening of the door: “It is interesting to note that among secular Jews in Israel, the original meaning of the open door has almost been forgotten. Today, opening the door is associated with Elijah, the always-expected invisible guest. A simplistic, benign messianic interpretation suppresses the original hostile attitude toward the Gentile.”[33] According to Ophir, said hostility carries a sense of dire reality into the Seder ritual:[34] “[T]his playful act […] reflects a common perception of the fundamental Jewish condition: even in times of temporary relief, Jews are continually confronted by the threat of danger and persecution.”[35] It is therefore that Ophir understands the opening of the door as an act of defiance, in which “Jews act as if they are not afraid of the Gentile.”[36] II. CRITICIZING PASSOVER Not only the ritual of opening the door and wishing ill upon the gentiles but the spirit of Passover in general has been subjected to criticism from different scholars across history for the attitude it displays towards Non-Jews. In the Haggadah, there's a passage in which the Ten Plagues that allegedly forced the Egyptian Pharaoh to set the Israelites free are recited. During the reading of the passage, participants of the Seder-ritual dip their fingers into their cups of wine and deliberately spill some drops of liquid. According to R. Shire, this “reminds us that our freedom should never be at the expense of any other” and alludes to the Midrashic legend of God spilling tears over the Egyptians drowned in the Red Sea.[37] The Union's version cites another Midrash that has God reprimand his angels for striking up a song of triumph when the Egyptians perish.[38] These examples show that there may have always been some hesitancy towards the fate of the Egyptians being a cause for celebration.[39] Ben-Chorin traces the interpretation of the spilling of the wine being a sign of sympathy back to R. Samson Raphael Hirsch who encouraged an “ethicizing” reading of the Passover Haggadah in the 19th century.[40] In contrast to the compassionate interpretation of the gesture, Ben-Chorin originally understands the ritual as a “magic” rite to apotropaically protect oneself from the plagues evoked.[41] In fact, the rite has lately been traced back to the late 12th/early 13th century writings of R. Eleazar ben Judah of Worms,[42] who, based on a gematrical interpretation, did indeed understand it as “a means to ward off the potential danger inherent in God's sixteen-faced sword”.[43] The compassionate understanding is therefore more recent.[44] Ophir calls the account of the plagues a “horrible show of destruction” and views Midrashic stories of God's mourning for the Egyptians as a “counterdiscourse that challenges the dominant discourse”.[45] According to his analysis of how the ritual is commonly viewed in contemporary Israel, however, the spilling of the wine primarily serves as an “allusion to the drowning” rather than an expression of pity, and Ophir even considers the “additional noise and activity” during this part of the ceremony as a means to distract from the misery of the Egyptians,[46] deadening any compassion possibly felt for the Israelites' enemies, who are in turn being dehumanized: “The Gentile himself has not been removed, of course. There he waits, outside the door […] But something essential to the Gentile's mode of being and representation has been erased: He has lost his position as a speaker or listener, as an interlocutor in the discourse, while the children of Israel have lost the ability to identify with his suffering. At the risk of anachronistically employing modern language, one may say that what has been erased is the Gentile's humanity.”[47] Based upon Ophir's excellent analysis of the problem at hand, the present essay will later aim to restitute the gentile during the Seder by proposing a different understanding of his position during the ritual. Ophir's criticism of the passage mentioned above already encompasses its supplementing by an expansion of the biblical account[48] that tries to prove that there were more than ten plagues visited upon the Egyptians.[49] According to Ben-Chorin, who calls this particular section “not very tasteful”, the passage was created in the context of Bar Kokhba's uprising against the Romans who were representatively identified with the Egyptians.[50] Ophir terms it a “calculus of evils,”[51] while Krochmalnik reads the listing of the plagues as an expression of “reveling in dreams of revenge.”[52] However, according to Krochmalnik, this is corrected by the subsequent intonation of the Dajenu, a song praising God's deeds and his abundant mercy towards the Israelites. When the song says, “If he had […] merely saved us from the Egyptians without punishing them, this would have been sufficient for us”, Krochmalnik understands this as a “renunciation of revenge.”[53] This seems unlikely, though, since the Dajenu ultimately expresses gratitude for God's complete triumph over Egypt, the humble attitude towards the thoroughness of God's actions being a display of thankfulness rather than pity for the Egyptians.[54] The passages from Psalms and Lamentations cast against the gentiles in the passage that shall concern us have been criticized as well. Ben-Chorin cites a 1521 copy of the Haggadah by a certain Jehuda Bar-Jekutiel in which what he calls the “song of hate” has been changed to read “Pour out Your love on the nations who have known you” instead of “Pour out thy wrath upon the heathen that have not known thee.“[55] Ben-Chorin considers the possibility that the section has been redacted for apologetic reasons.[56] The same variant is also quoted by Tabory, who traces its 20th century publication back to Chayyim Bloch whom he suspects of having made up the text himself despite his claims of having found it in a 1521 Haggadah[57] – the very same one as cited by Ben-Chorin.[58] Since Ben-Chorin doesn't give a source for his presentation of the changed passage, we cannot discern if he possesses additional knowledge regarding the authenticity of the text or if he fell for Bloch's supposed “hoax” himself.[59] Still, regardless of when and how the text may have been changed, it seems that the adjustment is essentially technical. The version quoted by Ben-Chorin and Tabory ultimately won't distance itself from the original reading, merely stating the positive flip side to what the older version expresses in a negative way: Blessed are those who believe in the (Jewish) God and support the people of Israel. The blessing is not extended to the enemies of the Jews, otherwise the passage should read: Pour out thy love upon the heathen that have not known thee so that they may recognize you. Accordingly, Tabory quotes a longer version of the variant featuring a second stanza that begins with the conventional “Pour out Your fury on the nations that do not know You” etc. Tabory states, however, that some who have accepted the variant recite only its first part.[60] Arnow cites an interpretation of the “Pour out thy wrath”-passage by 16th century Rabbi Eliezer ben Elijah Ashkenazi who understood the verses to only apply to “nations that know neither God nor of the exodus. The curse cannot therefore apply to Christians and Muslims.“[61] This interpretation has had some impact, as Arnow shows that it found its way into a 17th century commentary on the Shulḥan Arukh, “perhaps Judaism's most influential law code”, that “appears in all printed versions” of the book.[62] Further efforts to give a new meaning to the passage in question were made, according to Tabory, by German scholar Israel Levy in the 19th century who “replaced [the original curse] with verses that call for all nations to return to God”. For Tabory, this “exemplifies the alternate rabbinical approach to the future redemption – that it will come together with the salvation of the nations.”[63] Golinkin cites a similar version of the passage published by 19th century Reform Rabbi Leopold Stein: “Pour out Your spirit on all flesh [-] May all nations come to serve You [-] Together in one language [-] Because the Lord is the Sovereign of Nations.”[64] Aside from textual adjustments such as these, the most profound criticism of Passover has finally been voiced by Ophir,[65] who views the whole idea of the Seder-ritual to be fundamentally flawed when considered from a meta-perspective. In this, Ophir draws upon the work of Yerushalmi,[66] and his distinction between “memory” as a way of establishing a sense of identity and the factual “detachment” encountered in scholarly “historiography”.[67] Yerushalmi believes that Judaism throughout the ages has been more interested in finding meaning in history than in giving a historically precise account of its events. He argues that, while other cultures ascribed meaning exclusively to the “mythic”, Judaism conferred meaning to history because it was understood as the place where God's actions became immanent.[68] As a result of being thus theologically charged and canonized,[69] the Biblical accounts and their interpretation,[70] started taking precedence over merely temporary details, the Holy Scripture in Rabbinical Judaism being understood as a “pattern of the whole of history.”[71] Since a meaningful connection to history was favored over the (sometimes quite impossible) “recollection” of factual events,[72] there emerged within Judaism a peculiar approach to the past. Yerushalmi's observation that even in biblical times “the collective memory is transmitted more actively through ritual than through chronicle,”[73] therefore applies to later periods as well, which goes especially for the Passover-Seder and its story of God's redemptive actions that Yerushalmi terms a “quintessential exercise in Jewish group memory.”[74] Yerushalmi believes that this search for what he later calls an “eternal contemporaneity,”[75] did inspire the use of “anachronism” often encountered in Rabbinic stories,[76] and that the traditional “yearn[ing]” for meaning might still not be rivalled by secular historiography.[77] Consequently, according to Ophir, an anachronistic re-telling of the Exodus,[78] such as described by Yerushalmi eventually “reproduces” ancient concepts of an enemy, Pharaoh,[79] generalizing and projecting them as an “archetype,”[80] on contemporary (foreign) relations,[81] thus obstructing the development of a nuanced view of the gentiles.[82] Instead, Ophir argues, the gentiles are subjected to a religious othering,[83] that takes away their dignity,[84] and depicts them as incompatible with Judaism – according to Ophir, the Seder-ritual implies that whenever God is absent, the gentile world rises up against Israel, and whenever God reveals himself, his revelation has to be accompanied by the gentiles' destruction.[85] By contrast, in the next chapter we shall present a new understanding of the ritual of opening the door that may serve to overcome said logic of antagonistic ethnic/religious difference. Of course, others have tried to solve the problem of the more offensive or hostile passages of the Passover-Seder before. We have already encountered some of those efforts in the examples given above, some of the most obvious changes to Passover being made by the Union's version and R. Shire. Commenting on the prospect traditionally expressed at the end of the Passover-ritual – “Next year in Jerusalem!” – R. Shire wishes for this to mean “a peaceful Jerusalem for all”, the city “represent[ing] the spiritual ideal of a heavenly place where tranquility and harmony reign”, a “Messianic Age of justice and freedom for all.”[86] Accordingly, R. Shire understands Passover as a reflection on “freedom from prejudice” as well.[87] In this, R. Shire is in line with the Union's interpretation of Passover, in which “'the land of Israel'” evoked at the beginning of the Seder “is the symbol of the hope of redemption” for “every people”, that is, for “all God's children.”[88] The Union's version even goes so far as to complement the closing prayer of the Seder with an outlook for “the Passover of the future, when all humanity will live in harmony and peace”, adding the verse “Next year in a world redeemed!” at the end.[89] In the same vein, Ben-Chorin proposes to have the last verse of the Seder speak of a “Jeruschalajim schel Schalom”, a “Jerusalem of peace.”[90] While R. Shire views man to be endowed with the potential and responsibility to realize said vision of peace,[91] Ben-Chorin seems to stress the importance of the implementation of a messianic utopia remaining in the hands of God. Analyzing one of the songs sung after the Seder, titled Adir hu, he notes that the singers express hope for God himself building the Third Temple of the messianic time: “This mythical concept is of eminent political significance today. Not through terrorist acts of violence can the Third Temple come into being, but through the merciful intervention of God alone.”[92] Earlier, Ben-Chorin gives an account of 20th century American Reconstructionists emending passages of the Passover-Haggadah that speak of Israel as the chosen people.[93] He goes on to show, however, that the biblical understanding of being chosen doesn't necessarily imply that one is superior compared to others, referring to the prophet Isaiah's “eschatological vision of [a] coalition” between Israel and its enemies Assur and Egypt[!], each of them being described as having a special relation with God in their own right (Is 19,25).[94] Füglister even notices a possible connection between Passover and an (universalistic) end times like the one just described, considering that the account of the celebration of Passover under King Josiah in 2 Chron 35 might be an allusion to the eschatological feast between all nations as described in Is 25,6ff.[95] It has to be said, though, that the theology of Passover doesn't necessarily have to culminate in a vision of immaculate peace and understanding. Is 19,25 is preceded by a number of verses that imagine Egypt being threatened into submission by God before becoming part of the aforementioned “coalition”, the description reading like a reference to the ten plagues. Is 25,6ff. is in turn preceded by a praise for God laying waste to “a palace of strangers,”[96] (V2), while the nation of Moab is still said to be crushed according to Is 25,10ff., despite the eschatological feast already being enacted. Accordingly, Füglister cites instances in which the eschatological feast can have a negative connotation for the “enemies of Yahweh” as well, referencing (among others) the depictions given in Jer 46,10 and Ez 39,17-20 and the Rabbinic tradition of understanding the lamb being eaten on Passover as an allusion to the Egyptian gods getting slaughtered in the Exodus.[97] Efforts towards mitigating those aspects of Passover that may seem hostile or offensive towards Non-Jews can finally be found in Christian theological interpretations relating Passover to the account of Jesus Christ's last supper.[98] In this light, the cup of wine blessed by Jesus during that final gathering is contrasted by Ben-Chorin with the “cup of wrath,”[99] over which the curses against the gentiles are uttered. According to Ben-Chorin, the motif of the cup is taken up by the New Testament account in multiple ways: When Jesus prays in Gethsemane that God might “remove this cup” from him, this alludes to the glass of wine poured for Elijah, thus signifying that Jesus wishes he wouldn't have to be the foretold (suffering) Messiah at this eve of his Passion.[100] When the cup blessed by Jesus is associated with his blood, he becomes like the slaughtered Passover lamb, the cup of blood – similar to the blood of circumcision – symbolizing the “New Covenant” with God as well as becoming a means of spiritual revitalization in the Christian tradition of Communion.[101] Finally, Ben-Chorin and Kosmala consider the (merciful) cup of Jesus to be an antitype of the cup of wrath and the promise of punishment it holds, said cup supposedly stemming from a “zealot” tradition under Roman occupation.[102] Like every organized religion, Christianity is, of course, not a unified entity. Among the many different currents of Christianity, we personally profess a liberal, academically secured, conciliatory and universalistic stance. Based on this declared point of view, the re-interpretation of the “cup of wrath” as explained by Ben-Chorin and Kosmala might allow us to understand the rite in question to have been transformed into one of inclusion,[103] as envisioned by the Christian way of thought we identify with ourselves. This idea is in itself hardly an answer to our questions regarding the Passover-Seder, however, as it already presumes a Christian adaption of a Jewish ritual. Ben-Chorin himself strongly warns against the risks of succumbing to a “theology of substitution”.[104] Likewise, Heschel, in a rejection of Christian mission to the Jews, rightly states: “Judaism has allies but no substitutes.”[105] The dangers associated with the implicit assumption that Christian thought is more universalist than Jewish tradition,[106] becomes even more apparent as we note that Liberal Judaism's understanding of the eschatology of Passover is in no way less universalistic than our own. Accordingly, the idea we propose in the next chapter will remain within the boundaries of Jewish thought, despite probably being inspired not only by R. Shire's and the Union's liberal understanding of Passover, but by the author's own set of Christian ethics as well. III. REDEFINING THAT WHICH LAYS BEYOND THE DOOR Our efforts towards developing a conciliatory understanding of the Passover-Seder are based on a new interpretation of that which lies beyond the door. In this, we come to a similar conclusion as R. Shire and the Union's version, although by way of another methodological approach. For our purposes, we will identify a structural flaw stemming from the historical development of the Passover-Haggadah, and, by addressing it, turn it into an asset. Kulp warns that “the Haggadah as we have it today was a text that took hundreds of years to coalesce. Much of the material in the Haggadah […] originally existed in other literary settings […] Therefore, we must constantly distinguish between the meaning of these sources in their original literary contexts and their meaning and function in the context of the Haggadah.”[107] In a similar vein, Arnow notes that the ritual of opening the door, the recitation of the curses and the tradition of having a cup of wine for the prophet Elijah were added to the Seder at different points throughout history.[108] Blank remarks that the Elijah-tradition originally constitutes an element of “folk religion,”[109] and that the combining of the curses with the opening of the door “becomes a breeding-ground for confusion” for those who are not sure how to reconcile the two motifs: “Since [in a common Haggadah] little or no information is likely to be given regarding the two elements in question, we can imagine that generations of Jews have welcomed Eliyahu through the open door with vindictive declarations, without the benefit of explanation of leyl shimurim, or of the rationale behind Sh'fokh, or of any expressed connection between vindication and the final redemption!”[110] In the end, however, there appears to be a way for Blank to bring the different elements of the ritual into accordance: Sympathizing somewhat with Goldschmidt's and Birnbaum's approach of relating the curses, Elijah, the idea of Passover as a night of vigil and the Hallel (Ps 115 criticizes the nations for idolatry, while Ps 116 intones the personal creed of one who has been saved from danger),[111] the above-mentioned “connection between vindication and the final redemption” seems to be explainable after all. For the motifs involved to make sense to the modern reader when combined, the Haggadah has of course to be explained from a synchronic perspective as opposed to taking an interest in its diachronic development. As Ophir puts it in the beginning of his criticism of Passover: “In this essay […] I am not concerned with the text's historical development […] My concern is rather with the text that appears at a contemporary Seder table”.[112] We concur with both Blank's and Ophir's synchronic[113] approaches to the text, and our proposition will aim to enable the reader to apply our findings to their own celebration of the Seder. We also agree with Blank's observations on a formal level: There is indeed a discrepancy to be found with the ritual actions involved. However, we believe the problem to apply mainly to the use of metaphor in the passage in question.[114] By correcting our understanding of the imagery used in the section, we will finally be able to give a new meaning to the passage as well, decoupling the idea of redemption from that of vindication.[115] Our reading of Ophir and other scholars has shown that the “outside of the door” can be seen as a place where the hostile gentile lies in wait as well as the sphere from which Elijah may appear. Thus, an inconsistency arises: That which lies beyond the door is contradictorily characterized as being at once a place of danger and one of salvation.[116] We would like to revise this concept by making both traditions compatible and merging them into a new one. We therefore propose that that which lies beyond the door should be imagined as a place where Elijah (standing for Judaism) and the gentiles coexist, representing a peaceful (festive) eschaton. This yet-to-be-unveiled realm can be symbolically[117] un-locked by those celebrating Passover by opening the door that separates our present reality from the envisioned future. If, in addition, we were to leave out the critical verses wishing ill upon the gentiles (as the Union's version consciously does),[118] the (only) text recited while the door is opened would – in accordance with R. Shire's Haggadah – be the verses Mal 3,23-24a, announcing the apocalyptic return of Elijah, turning “the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers.“[119] The Union's version has some additional material preceding and following the verses, the most interesting being the commentary that “[t]he fifth promise [the one associated with Elijah's cup] is a promise of the future, when God will bring our people, and all peoples, into the messianic land of freedom, harmony and peace.”[120] This fits our own proposition and could therefore easily be adopted by us. In R. Shire's version, the ritual of opening and closing the door is followed by the (second part of the) Hallel. Both R. Shire and the Union's version omit the verses cited from Ps 115 + 116, thereby paying heed to the tradition of abbreviating the Hallel as a sign of compassion for the drowned Egyptians.[121] The Union, however, presents the Hallel before the ritual so that the door is opened “at the climax of the whole Seder.”[122] While this seems to be in line with our own proposition, it would be just as appropriate to keep the order presented by R. Shire, therefore continuing the ritual with the first verses of Ps 117 in which all the nations are called on to praise God, fitting the idea of reconciliation. One might even consider leaving the door opened for this part of the song.[123] That the Hallel emphasizes God's “kindness” may also serve to tone down the threat accompanying the verses Mal 3,23-24 (V23: “the dreadful day of the Lord”; V24b: “lest I come and smite the earth with a curse”; left out by R. Shire and the Union's version). We agree with R. Shire and the Union's version, however, in that the verses praising God for the plague of the firstborn as well as similar allusions to violence should be omitted.[124] In comparison, the following variants of the ritual emerge (barring the different instructions on the cups of wine):
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