In the order of the Seder as it appears in the ceremonial symbols, the afikoman is referred to by the word Tzafun, hidden, because it has been hidden away, from the beginning of the meal until the time for eating it. Some people hide it in a pillow or cushion; the custom of hiding it inside the cushion used for reclining may have a basis in the verse (Psalms 31:20): How great is the goodness that You have hidden for those who fear You. We hide it in cushions to symbolically guard it, in fulfillment of the verse (Exodus 17): And you shall guard the matzot.

In some Sephardic communities, when they get to the point in the Seder for yachatz, instead of hiding the aifkoman, it is tied on the shoulder of a child, who leaves the room and then knocks on the door. The people at the Seder table call out:

"Who are you?" to which he responds: "Israel."

"Where have you come from?" "From Egypt."

"Where are you going?" "To Jerusalem."

"What are you carrying?" "Matzah."

The child then enters the room, looks at the festive table, and begins to ask the Four Questions: "Why is this night different from other nights?"

The following story, paraphrased by me, was told by Rabbi Berl Wein. In the midst of my preparations for our family Seder last Passover, my precocious four-year-old grandson, Daniel, informed me that he would be "very quiet when eating matzah at the Seder." When I did not respond enthusiastically to this profound statement, he pursued the matter and said, "Don't you want to know why I will be very quiet when I eat matzah?"

I, being then quite occupied with such weighty matters as choosing the appropriate wines for the Seder, grunted offhandedly, "Tell me why, Daniel." With a smile of wisdom that only children who are yet unaware of their limitations can muster, he said to me, "Because I want to hear the matzah."

Matzah is accustomed to hearing what we have to say to it. During most of the ritual service of the Passover Haggadah the matzah hears our words and listens to our tale. But, I now thought, how meaningful it would be if, in the words of Daniel, we would "hear the matzah." I think that such a conversation would go something like this:

"Every empire was convinced that it was invincible and immortal. But I have seen them all pass. I began in Egypt, traveled through the Sinai Desert, and took root in the Land of Israel. I was at the Temple in Jerusalem, the palace of David, the herdsman's hut on the Golan, and the merchant's home in ancient Jaffa. I have seen Warsaw, Vilna, Kiev, Cracow, Moscow, Berlin, Paris, Shanghai, Cochin, and Mumbai. I have been at Seder tables spread with white linen, laden with the finest china and most ornate silver serving pieces. I have also been in hidden, dark cellars in Seville and Barcelona, expelled from London and Oxford, and unaccountably and unjustly accused of blood libels in my preparation. I was also in Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, under siege in modern Jerusalem and Safed, in labor camps in Siberia, and I am still in hiding in Damascus, Teheran and the entire Arab world. I have been around and I have learned a thing or two.

"I have observed the passing of civilizations and empires. I have witnessed profound changes in the world order and in society's beliefs. I, as a lowly matzah, couldn't comment too loudly about these goings-on. But I have seen them all pass. Yet the struggle for personal freedom, for meaning and commitment in life, for peace and mutual understanding, for the sanctity of home and family is yet to be won. That is why I'm so delighted to have this little chat with you. I'm always thrilled to have someone who will listen to me.

"For a while, people, even my people, thought that I wouldn't be around much longer. But that was not true. I am found in America, Europe and even still in Russia. I am back home in Jerusalem and Hebron, Tiberias and Tel Aviv. In fact, for anyone who will listen to me, I am still there."