This!
Parshat Bo and The Door; Marie Howe and The Gate
What a powerful literary device this is.
Actually, what a powerful literary device “this” is.
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For a change, this d’var begins with “Another Thing.” Click on this short reading by Marie Howe of her poem The Gate, written about her younger brother John, who died of AIDS at age 28. The poem starts at 1:20 but the first minute or so is worthwhile.
Have you listened?
Good.
The poem ends with these words from her brother John:
This is what you have been waiting for, he used to say to me. And I’d say, What? And he’d say, This—holding up my cheese and mustard sandwich. And I’d say, What? And he’d say, This, sort of looking around.
It is compelling and puzzling. What does her brother mean by the repeated word “this”? And why is the poem entitled The Gate?
Here is a link to the whole poem if you want to read it.
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The word “this” also happens to play a crucial role in this week’s parsha. Parshat Bo tells of the last three plagues, ending with the horrific slaughter of the Egyptian first born on Pesach eve. You know the story - the Israelites are told to smear the blood of the Pesach lamb sacrifice on their door posts so the Angel of Death will pass over them.
A little later, God commands the observance of Passover, to commemorate the liberation. We are told to teach our children about it in this famous sentence:
וְהִגַּדְתָּ֣ לְבִנְךָ֔ בַּיּ֥וֹם הַה֖וּא לֵאמֹ֑ר בַּעֲב֣וּר זֶ֗ה עָשָׂ֤ה יְהֹוָה֙ לִ֔י בְּצֵאתִ֖י מִמִּצְרָֽיִם׃
And you are to tell your child on that day, saying:
It is because of this YHWH did for me, when I went out of Egypt.
Note the first Hebrew word, with the root H-G-D, meaning “to tell.” From it comes the name of our Seder handbook, the Haggadah (the “telling”). This passage seems to convey the message of the holiday, the thing you’re supposed to teach your child.
Let’s focus on the key phrase:
בַּעֲב֣וּר זֶ֗ה עָשָׂ֤ה יְהֹוָה֙ לִ֔י
It is because of this YWHW did for me
It is because of this. The Hebrew word is “zeh.” Zeh is normally used to point out something (like, for example, a cheese and mustard sandwich or the full moon).
But there’s nothing to point at in this sentence.
The commentators have struggled to make sense of this. One interpretation, followed by many, can be traced to Saadiah Gaon (882-942), who says the parent is explaining why we eat certain symbolic foods on Passover. On this theory, “this” is the eating of matza and maror, which is commanded several sentences prior. This interpretation doesn’t match the flow of the sentence, which seems to be offering a reason God took us out of Egypt, not a reason for our observance.
Ibn Ezra rejects this reading, cleverly expressing the problem: it takes the two words בַּעֲב֣וּר זֶ֗ה (“because of this”) and flips them to mean זה בעבור (“this is because”). In his view, also Rashi’s, the parent is explaining why God took us out of Egypt - so that we will fulfill the commandments, as exemplified by the command to eat matza and maror, and all the other ones too. Ibn Ezra agrees that the word “this” is points to the eating matza and maror, but now those become the reason God liberated the Israelites. It’s a better fit with the sentence.1
The idea that our future observance of the commandments could be motivation for God to liberate us has profound implications. Why should it matter to God? Perhaps because God’s power is fully manifest only in partnership with us. Otherwise, it’s just words in a book. Our observance is not just a perpetual thank you for our liberation. It makes us instruments in the divine plan. Our origin story as slaves is intended to infuse us with empathy and compassion for the poor and the oppressed. This is why so many of the commandments come with the formula “because your were slaves in Egypt.” The world has evolved but oppression continues. And so our work continues.
The Sefat Emet offers a beautiful further connection between the exodus and the commandments. He teaches that so many commandments state as the reason for their performance “because you were slaves in Egypt” because their purpose is to make us free - from attachment to material things.
A deeper engagement with the humble word zeh becomes a doorway to deeper understanding of Passover. The door is an enduring symbol of the holiday: Our ancestors put blood on their doorposts, another covenant of blood with God. They would walk through that door the next morning, into freedom. In so doing, they (and we) would exchange servitude for service, avodah for Avodah.
The poet Marge Piercy uses the symbol of the door in her poem “Maggid”, a stirring paean to migrants. The poem is named for the portion of the Haggadah that describes our descent into and exodus from slavery. Its first words distill the necessary qualification for any migrant:
The courage to let go of the door, the handle.
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Back to Marie Howe. Or, from The Door, to The Gate. What is the meaning of “this” in her poem?
The video linked above was part of a project sponsored by the Academy of American of Poets as part of National Poetry Month. Each year the Academy posts a selection of poems and invites students across the country to choose one that moved them and write a letter to the poet. The poets agree to respond to each letter. In 2022, The Gate was one of the poems selected. (Ms. Howe was President of the Academy at the time.) The letters the students wrote to Ms. Howe are heartfelt and moving, offering their vulnerability and grief, and their appreciation for the poem’s healing power. Her compassionate responses and encouragement are equally moving. It is like a reboot of Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet for the 21st century. Here are selected comments and her responses, published as part of the project. You will be uplifted by reading them.
Shavuah tov,
RichThis article by Harvey Bock is a deep dive into the whole issue and cites yet another interesting reading based on seeing in the Hebrew word בַּעֲב֣וּר (usually translated as “because”) the word עֲב֣וּר, which has a lesser-known meaning of “agricultural produce.” So the sentence means, “with these foods” God acted on my behalf when we were liberated from Egypt.

