הָא לַחְמָא עַנְיָא דִּי אֲכָלוּ אַבְהָתָנָא בְאַרְעָא דְמִצְרָיִם.
כָּל דִכְפִין יֵיתֵי וְיֵיכֹל, כָּל דִצְרִיךְ יֵיתֵי וְיִפְסַח.
הָשַּׁתָּא הָכָא, לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בְּאַרְעָא דְיִשְׂרָאֵל.
הָשַּׁתָּא עַבְדֵי, לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בְּנֵי חוֹרִין.
This is the bread of anya that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.
Anyone who is famished should come and eat,anyone who needs should come and partake of the Pesach sacrifice.
Now we are here, next year we will be in the land of Israel;
this year we are slaves, next year we will be free people.
Did you know? This passage in the Haggadah comes right at the beginning of the Magid section of the Seder, before the storytelling begins. It is about Lechem Oni, which is the way that the haggadah and the Torah refer to matzah.
The Big Questions are:
1. What is Lechem Oni? What does it mean? What is the meaning of eating it for us today?
2. How is this passage a good beginning for Magid?
3. What is strange about this passage? Are there things about it that don't make sense?
Why does the Haggadah say, "This is the bread of poverty which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt" instead of "This is the bread of poverty which our ancestors ate when they left Egypt?"
I learned the following explanation from my grandfather, Rabbi Abraham Naphtali Hertz Sheier. The Zohar explains that the verse, "Do not eat of a stingy man's bread," (Proverbs 23:6) applies to Joseph's brothers. The Egyptians were resentful of them because they were invited to eat at Joseph's table during the years of famine. (They were resentful of Joseph and his brothers for not sharing the great wealth of Egypt.) And so, the Egyptians punished them during the exile by feeding them "a stingy man's bread." Another term for this is "lechem oni." We hint at this explanation when we say, "This is like the lechem oni, the miserly bread, which our ancestors at in the land of Egypt." That is, when the tribes were in Egypt at Joseph's table. (The miserliness of Joseph's brothers) caused the Egyptians to feed us lechem oni. Today we eat lechem oni as a reminder of what happened in Egypt. We must repair our ancestors' sin, and show that we do not act in a miserly fashion. By behaving with hospitality and generosity, we show that we are no longer miserly.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Pesach Haggadah, pp. 22-25
This is a strange invitation: "This is the bread of oppression our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come in and eat." What hospitality is it to offer the hungry the taste of suffering? In fact, though, this is a profound insight into the nature of slavery and freedom. As noted, matza represents two things: it is the food of slaves, and also the bread eaten by the Israelites as they left Egypt in liberty. What transforms the bread of oppression into the bread of freedom is the willingness to share it with others....
Sharing food is the first act through which slaves become free human beings. One who fears tomorrow does not offer his bread to others. But one who is willing to divide his food with a stranger has already shown himself to be capable of fellowship and faith, the two things from which hope is born. That is why we begin the seder by inviting others to join us. Bread shared is no longer the bread of oppression. Reaching out to others, giving help to the needy and companionship to those who are along, we bring freedom into the world, and with freedom, God.
Matzah is referred to as lechem oni because it reminds us that all blessings come from above. We are impoverished. Without the divine plenty that God rains upon us, we would have nothing. All of the preparations before Passover are meant to remind us that God is the true source of blessing.
Actually, the word, "oni," has many different meanings. It means “answers” since eating matzah makes us ask many questions and offer diverse answers. It is also called "oni" as in poverty because it is prepared in the way that a poor person prepares his bread.
The word "oni" can also be derived for the idea that we are blessed by shefa, divine plenty, which comes from above as in the following verse in Hosea 2:23: “And it shall come to pass that I will respond on that day, says the Lord; I will answer (oneh) the heavens and they shall answer the earth; and the earth shall answer the corn and the wine and the oil.” The word anah (to answer or respond) has the connotation of providing divine plenty from above. Lachma anya is the bread that is provided from above. On Passover we reminded that redemption comes from above. We had little to do with bringing about our own redemption. It is an act of divine grace. It was only through our act of eating matzah that we were redeemed from Egypt. It made us aware that there is no place empty of God’s presence and kindness. The Talmud says, “An infant does not call his parents ‘Father and Mother’ until he consumes flour (i.e. solid food.) ” This means that wisdom and understanding come from God and we become worthy of them through the food of healing and faith, which teaches us that all comes from God. It was through the merit of this faith that we were redeemed and we will be redeemed in the future.
Matzah is called lachma anya, poor person’s bread. We are impoverished of knowledge and only through our reliance on God do we gain understanding. When we eat matzah we too become aware of our divine parent.
Escape Velocity: A Post-Apocalyptic Haggadah by Stanley Aaron Lebovic
In an attempt to provide verbal expression for the existential loneliness brought on by the Yachatz devastation [i.e. the breaking of the bread into two pieces], we recite the Aramaic passage, 'ha-lachma ania'. In it, we attempt to compensate for our loneliness by issuing an invitation to any and all in need. This innocent gesture, although understandable, actually serves to compound our sense of loss. It is a desperate move - ill timed. Kiddush has already been made, and Karpas has been dipped. If we are sincere in our intentions, we should have made the proper invitations well before the meal...Therefore we must understand this invitation on another level. Instead of grabbing the attention of wayward individuals, the passage is meant as a scathing affront to those assembled.
As we are about to celebrate our freedom in grand style, with regal leaning and cup after cup of fine red wine, we must acknowledge a sad truth... We are NOT really free! We are NOT yet home! Our exodus from Egypt has landed up in a prolonged exile of unimaginable horrors...
'Ha lachma ania' reminds us that the 'bread of affliction' our fathers ate in Egypt is appropriate fare for our generation as well. We are all 'hungry' and 'needy'. We mustn't feel a drop of contentment in our current state of exile. By forcing us to utter an invitation so late in the game, the Baal Hagaddah hits us squarely on the jaw. Our ability to invite guests is made possible by the fact that we are not eating a real Paschal sacrifice. If we were free, we wouldn't be alluding to the Pascal sacrifice, we would be savoring both its ta'am/flavor of taste, as well as its tam of mitzvah. Inviting guests post facto reminds us that all we do - even the wonderful acts of kindness - is tainted by our exiled existence. (p. 28)