In the spiritual world, brokenness can be an asset; it signifies humility, resilience, and a drive for growth

Rabbi Paysach Krohn, as told to Rabbi Moshe Dov Heber

During the Seder, we break the middle matzah and set aside the larger portion for the afikomen, which will be eaten at the end of the meal. The afikomen serves as a remembrance of the Korban Pesach, of which every Jew was required to partake during the time of the Beis Hamikdash.

If the afikomen represents such a central part of the Seder, why do we use a broken piece of matzah?
Wouldn’t an intact, whole matzah be more fitting?

The Kotzker Rebbe, Rav Menachem Mendel Morgenstern (1787–1859), taught: “There is nothing as whole as a broken heart.”

Dovid Hamelech writes in Tehillim (51:19): “Zivchei Elokim ruach nishbarah, lev nishbar v’nidkeh Elokim lo tivzeh [The sacrifices G-d desires are a broken spirit; a heart broken and humbled, O G-d, You will not despise].”

This piece of matzah, although broken, will be hidden. In the physical world, being whole is often seen as a virtue. But in the spiritual world, brokenness can be an asset; it signifies humility, resilience, and a drive for growth.

On Seder night, we celebrate freedom because we were once broken — crushed by the burdens of slavery. Doesn’t a person who recovered from eye surgery feel a deeper appreciation for the morning blessing of Pokeiach ivrim — “Who gives sight to the blind”?

One who once relied on crutches but now walks unaided recites Hameichin mitze’adei gaver — “Who firms man’s footsteps” — with a different intent than the rest of us.

Those who have undergone intestinal surgery say Asher yatzar — “Who fashioned man” — with a newfound sense of gratitude.

Each of these individuals has experienced brokenness yet emerged stronger, with his connection to Hashem deepened.

By the end of the Seder, this broken matzah, the afikomen, becomes the focal point of the night. Even if you have felt broken at times, you can take heart in knowing that pain and struggle often lead to growth. And if you are facing challenges now, look at the afikomen and draw strength. With Hashem’s help, you will rebuild — stronger and more whole than before.

While the idea of brokenness leading to strength is powerful, it is important to recognize that supporting someone through his struggles requires understanding and thoughtfulness. One of the most crucial aspects of offering meaningful support to someone going through a difficult time is knowing how to help him in a way that resonates with him.

Every person has unique needs, and what brings comfort to one may not work for another. Chizuk can come from many different places, but often, it comes from someone truly understanding you and your challenge. When people share how they persevered through their own personal struggles — whether the same or not — it can provide a glimmer of hope.

A friend of mine shared with me an incident that he heard from a person who broke his heel in a terrible accident. It was a serious injury, and the doctors advised him that people with this type of mishap usually never walk again.

He asked them, “No one?”

They responded, “Ninety-five percent.”

To which he confidently replied, “I am part of the five percent.”

When my friend shared this story with me, it gave me an immense sense of chizuk. This person’s resilience and determination in the face of adversity were inspiring.

With that in mind, I’d like to share a very personal story that highlights the profound impact of thoughtful support, in the hopes that it will offer strength and encouragement to others who may be facing their own challenges.

After my stroke, I was recovering at the home of my children, the Perlsteins, in Far Rockaway. During the Shabbos day seudah, the day after I arrived, there was a knock at the door. To my shock, standing there was the rosh yeshivah of Yeshiva Darchei Torah, Rav Yaakov Bender.

“Reb Yaakov, what are you doing here?” I asked in surprise.

“I’m here with some bochurim,” he replied. “Is it okay if we come in for a few minutes?”

When we assured him that his visit was welcome, he explained, “You’ve spoken for us so many times, and we came to be mevaker choleh.”

Behind him were 20 bochurim who had walked ten minutes in the cold to be mechazek me through singing and dancing. It was an unforgettable moment that filled my heart with gratitude and strength.

That would have been enough chizuk, but in Rav Bender’s unique way, he continued, “Reb Paysach, whenever you’re ready to get back into speaking, you will be speaking at Yeshiva Darchei Torah to a packed beis medrash. There will be hundreds of people waiting to hear your words.”

True to his word, I made my way to Darchei ten days later. I thought my talk was intended to provide chizuk to the bochurim, but in reality, I ended up receiving more chizuk than I gave. Flanked by Rav Bender and Rav Shlomo Avigdor Altusky, the Rosh Yeshivah, I delivered. The beis medrash was packed — menahalim, rebbeim, kollel yungeleit, and bochurim — and the energy in the room was palpable. It was a moment of immense significance for me, as I was able to deliver my first derashah in a public forum since my stroke. The experience gave me not just strength but a deep sense of gratitude for the community that surrounded me.

That speaking invitation became the turning point in my recovery. From that moment on, with each subsequent speech I gave, I became stronger and stronger. Recently, I’ve even been able to stand for long durations during speeches. Rav Bender understood that, having been speaking himself for four decades, and that the opportunity to speak again was what would help me heal.

Another source of chizuk was a unique video compilation coordinated and presented to me by ArtScroll and Chazak. It featured dozens of contemporary public speakers, each offering me his own words of chizuk. It was incredibly meaningful to see how much I meant to each of them. Their encouragement to me to return to the speaking circuit was so uplifting. Their support and the chizuk they shared gave me even more strength to continue on this journey.

The lesson from the afikomen, the broken matzah, is profound. While the world often celebrates wholeness, Seder night teaches us that brokenness — whether it is physical, emotional, or spiritual — can be a powerful spur for growth. Just as the broken heart can be the most sincere and powerful offering to Hashem, so, too, our struggles and challenges can shape us into stronger, more resilient individuals.

Just as the afikomen, the broken piece, becomes the focal point of the Seder, so too, our moments of weakness can ultimately become the source of our strength. Through faith, perseverance, and the support of those around us, we can rebuild, not just to become whole again, but to become better, wiser, and more connected to Hashem than ever before.

Rabbi Paysach Krohn is a mohel, the author of ArtScroll's best-selling Maggid series, and a world-renowned speaker on ethics and spiritual growth.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1056)