Every other ritual gesture was preceded by a benediction–over the wine, the washing of the hands, the parsley, the matzot, the bitter herbs mixed with haroset. Through the years I sensed more and more the mystery of the yahatz act. They were serious and I, who knew where the broken matzah was, held some true power in my hands. As I did so I sensed that this was no child’s play, that behind the hide-and-seek lay a more serious meaning. I remember being roused by my mother who, with some urgency in her voice, insisted that I return the matzah so that the service could be completed. I hid the napkin-covered matzah beneath the pillow of the bed and promptly fell into a deep sleep. That Passover night the seder ran exceptionally long and I was sleepy because of the cups of wine I had drunk and the lateness of the hour. I knew, as did all my cousins around the seder table, that he who found the concealed larger part, the afikoman, could hold out for any prize.
When he returned to the table, I looked forward to the search and retrieval. I had glued my eyes on him from the moment he performed the yahatz ceremony, breaking the middle matzah into two unequal parts and replacing the smaller part in its original position. I was five, perhaps six years old, when I found the matzah that my grandfather had placed in a linen napkin and hidden in the bedroom. Reprinted with permission of Sh’ma: A Journal of Jewish Responsibility, May 1986. My Jewish Learning is a not-for-profit and relies on your help Donate
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