I used to think that “afikomen” came from the Greek meaning something like “we went home” (first person plural aorist from ἀφικνεομαι), but it’s hard to be sure with Greek verbs since they are a tense and moody lot, and I was never entirely happy with my interpretation.

This year I said to myself: Look, the word comes from the Mishna, and the Mishna doesn’t have vowels; maybe different vowels fit the Hebrew consonants. אפיקומן:  you could begin with A or E followed by F or P, with a last vowel of A or E, perhaps even O.

Today I think it’s ἐπι κωμον, “epi komon,” a  noun from the Greek ἐπι (upon/extra) and κωμος (revelry, perhaps with processions and songs). Some people think that Greek banquets would sometimes end with tipsy revellers roaming the streets looking for another party to crash.

The Mishna says אין מפטירין אחר הפסח אפיקומן: they don’t start, after the Pesach sacrificial meal, אפיקומן.

The Hebrew root in מפטירין is delightfully ambiguous, meaning both start and conclude. You see it in Haftarah, the reading that follows the Torah reading (is it to conclude the Torah reading or to start something else?) And you see it in references to offspring that “open” the womb.

Both the Jerusalem Talmud and the Babylonian Talmud explain אפיקומן, but people who lived in Israel probably knew more Greek than those who lived in Babylon. After all, Josephus composed works in Greek, and the history of the Maccabees demonstrates the interaction between Greek and Hebrew culture.

So let’s see how the Jerusalem Talmud explains the word. We’re told, שלא יהא עומד מחבורה זו ונכנס לחבורה אחרת, “that one would not stand up from this group and enter a different group.” In Temple times, people would register with a group for the Passover sacrifice. This would ensure you’d have enough people to eat the lamb, and everyone would have enough. So once you’re registered with your group, after the sacrificial meal you’re not supposed to go and join another group: that would be “starting up (or concluding with) extra revelry.” אפיקומן ends with a “nun” because the Greek preposition ἐπι can take the accusative case and change the last letter of κωμος from ς (s) to ν (n).

We can learn from this that in Temple times, when everyone registered for a Passover sacrifice in advance, there would be no point inviting “all who are hungry” to our meal–except to pretend to be generous and welcoming, secure in the knowledge that nobody is around to accept the offer. We can also learn from this that a kill-joy who disapproves of singing after the Seder can cite a source.We can also learn from this that once you finish your Seder you shouldn’t go next door and see how they’re doing.

I remember once when we finished our Seder around midnight, we went next door to Rabbi Grubner’s house to bring good wishes; a kindlier neighbor you could not find. (The Grubner family were washing hands for the meal, so the conversation was one-sided, and they were in for a long night.)

Maybe we learned that going next door was not a good idea; maybe we learned that midnight was a bit early for a neighborly visit; maybe we learned that one of the differences between our modern Seder meal and the ancient sacrificial meal is that neighborly visits are okay; or maybe we learned that everything I’ve said is plain wrong, it’s afikomen and not epikomon, and the rabbis of the Jerusalem Talmud didn’t realize how much enjoyment can be found in a dry piece of matza after a big meal.