And Miriam Took a Timbrel in Her Hand (Exodus 15:20)

PASSOVER HAGGADAH Compiled by Tree Bressen

MIRIAM “And Miriam ... took a timbrel in her hand ...” (Exodus 15:20) Miriam led the women in song and dance with her timbrel, or tambourine, at the sea shore as the Jews crossed the divided Red Sea and left Egypt. SEDER  ORDER

1. Opening 8. Rachtzah Opening Meditation 2nd Cup of Wine Introductions Around the Table Transformation 9. Motzi Matzah Introduction Half-Baked Bread

2. Elijah & Miriam 10. Maror The Open Door How Far Would We Go? Elijah’s Cup Miriam’s Bowl 11. Koreich B’chol dor vador 3. Kadeish Memory Shehechiyatnu Lighting of the Candles 12. Shulchan Oreich 1st Cup of Wine—Kiddush 13. Tzafun 4. Urchatz 14. Bahreitz 5. Karpas Birkat Hamazon Song of Songs Let Us Say Grace rd The Tremor in the Seed 3 Cup of Wine

6. Yachatz 15. Nirtza th Hide the afikoman. 4 Cup of Wine The Long Road 7. Telling the Story Redemption Seemed as Close as the Maggid Kitchen Sink God-Wrestlers The Question I Wait For 16. Hallel On Questioning at the Seder Hinei Ma Tov The Four Questions Lo Yisa Goy The Four Children Supplementary Readings Egg Shank Bone The Story of Passover: Exodus The Ten Plagues Oseh Shalom Dayeinu Opening Meditation We come together from our separate lives, each of us bringing our concerns, our preoccupations, our hopes, and our dreams. We are not yet fully present: The traffic, the last-minute cooking, the final details still cling to us. Our bodies hold the rush of the past few hours. It is now time to let go of these pressures and really arrive at this seder. We do this by meditating together. Make yourself comfortable, you can close your eyes if you wish. Now take a few deep breaths, and as you exhale, let go of the tensions in your body. You’ll begin to quiet within. When you’re ready, repeat silently to yourself: “Hineini,” or “Here I am.” Hineini is used in the Torah to signify being present in body, mind, and spirit. It means settling into where we are and simply being “here.” If you prefer, you can visualize the word. Let the word become filled with your breath. Merge with it, so that you experience being fully present. Everything drops away, and you’re left in the unbounded state of here-ness. When a thought arises, just notice it and return to hineini again and again. Let yourself be held in the state of hineini. Meditate in this way for several minutes, long enough to become more present. Slowly open your eyes, and look around the room at the people in your circle. Now, we begin our journey together. (by Nan Fink Gefen)

Introductions Around the Table . . .

Transformation Ever since Rabbi Akiva used the Passover seder to plan a revolutionary struggle against the Romans, Jews have used the seder to begin work on tikkun olam, the healing and transformation of the world. The Hebrew word YHVH, sometimes pronounced “Adonai,” really means something like “The movement of the present into the future” or “That which makes possible the transformation of that which is into that which can and should be.” So allow time at your table to ask: What needs to be fixed and what will we do to fix it? Ask together about our world, ask that privately about ourselves. The central message of Passover is this: oppressive realities can be changed; God is the force that makes it possible to move from what is to what ought to be. Recognizing that Transformative Force is the central point of the seder. (by Michael Lerner) Introduction The seder celebration in which we are participating this evening is the product of a tradition which has evolved over 2000 years of Jewish history. Its ritual is a synthesis of various historical periods, which have found the Jewish people faced with different material realities, and therefore, different relationships to themselves and the religious and philosophical themes they have chosen to emphasize. Originally, Pesach was commemorated by our nomadic ancestors as a celebration of spring, honoring the season of rebirth and the cyclical process of nature. As Jews became increasingly agrarian, Pesach assumed an agricultural emphasis. It was during this period that Jews began to celebrate, as a grain festival, the Festival of Unleavened Bread (Hag Ha-Matzah); the actual historical antecedent to the pre-Pesach ceremony of searching for chametz (leavened bread) and the use of matzah in the seder ritual. The historical events which serve as the basis for the story of the Exodus date back to approximately 1600 BCE (“Before Common Era”), when the Hebrews, as well as other nomadic tribes, wandered into Egypt. At that time, Egypt was ruled by the Hyksos, foreigners who had conquered the indigenous Egyptian people. The Hyksos favored foreigners as a means of maintaining power over the native Egyptians. It was, therefore, in the interest of the Hyksos to accommodate the Hebrews, who became assimilated and flourished. In approximately 1400 BCE, a coup occurred and the Egyptians reassumed power. The newly empowered native aristocracy enslaved all of the foreigners living in Egypt, including the Hebrews. The story of Passover grows out of a time of political transition in Egypt (about 1270 BCE), when the various tribal people found the time propitious to attempt a mass exodus. These tribes, reflecting many different cultures (some of which were Goddess worshipping), banded together, enduring the hardships of the Sinai and Negev deserts. Eventually, upon reaching Israel, they joined those tribes still living there, and formed what we now refer to as the “Jewish Nation.” The story of the Exodus is the mythic retelling of this primal experience of our people. The Open Door It is traditional to leave the front door of the house open during the Passover seder. As for many traditions, there are a variety of explanations for this. We are told that Miriam and Elijah, famous prophets of old, must be invited to join our celebration, and that they may walk in at any time. In the desert where our ancestors spent years upon years, hospitality was an extremely important virtue, and on Passover eve all passersby were welcome to enter and receive food. It symbolizes that no person is shut off from other humyn beings.

Elijah’s Cup Our extra cup of wine and bowl on the table are intended as additional welcome for Elijah and Miriam. Historically the extra cup originated out of a dispute as to whether to drink four cups of wine at the seder or five. The compromise that the rabbinical scholars eventually agreed on was to have a fifth cup present without drinking from it.

Miriam’s Bowl Rabbinic legend teaches that a magical well accompanied the Israelites on their journey from Egypt toward the Promised Land. This well is said to have appeared because of the merit of the prophetess Miriam. According to Jewish tradition, the waters of the well dried up after her death. We place Miriam’s bowl on the seder table as a counterweight to the cup of Elijah. The latter is a symbol of messianic redemption at the end of time; the former, of redemption in our present lives. Elijah lived in the desert as a lone, howling visionary, focused on the millennium. Miriam sojourned in the same wilderness, but she accompanied the Hebrew people. Tireless tribal parent, she offered hope and renewal at every stage of the journey. As we pour water from our glasses into Miriam’s bowl, let it symbolize each of us giving of ourselves to this ritual. For no ritual is alive of itself, it is only alive insofar as we bring life to it. Eliyahu haNavi • Miriam haNevia Eliyahu hanavi, Eliyahu hatishbi, Eliyahu, Eliyahu, Eliyahu hagiladi. Bimheryra b’yamenu, yavo eleynu, Im machiach ben Daveed, im machiach ben Daveed. Miriam hanevia, oz v’zimra b’yada, Miriam rikdi itanu l’takeyn et-ha’olam. Bimheryra b’yamenu, tavo eleynu, El mei ha’yeshua, el mei ha’yeshua,

O Prophet Elijah, come to us in our own day with the Messiah, child of David.

O Prophet Miriam, strength and music in your hand, come dance with us to heal the world, come to us in our own day with the waters that transform us. Read silently:

The cup of Elijah holds wine; the cup of Miriam holds water. Wine is more precious until you have no water.

Water that flows in our veins, water that is the stuff of life for we are made of breath and water, vision and fact. Elijah is the extraordinary; Miriam brings the daily wonders: the joy of a fresh morning like a newly prepared table, a white linen cloth on which nothing has yet spilled. The descent into the heavy waters of sleep healing us. The scent of baking bread, roasting chicken, fresh herbs, the faces of friends across the table: what sustains us every morning, every evening, the common daily miracles like the taste of cool water. (by Marge Piercy) Kadeish (Sanctifying the day) Tonight we celebrate the story of the Jewish people, who are linked throughout time with all peoples in the passion for justice and human liberty. As is traditional in this annual feast of liberation, we give thanks for the preservation of our spirit in the face of challenge and threat. We give thanks for the event that became our great symbol of liberation—the Exodus from Egypt. We give thanks for the inspiration that taught us to live. And we pray for the liberation of all beings.

Shehechiyatnu This blessing is said at beginnings: of holidays, seasons, festivals and new undertakings. It reminds us of the continuous wonder of being alive.

“Blessed are you, unnamable One, our Goddess, breath of the world, who has kept us alive, lifted us up, and brought us to focus on this very moment.”

Brucha aht Yah elotaynu, ruach ha-olam, shehechiyatnu, v’kimatnu, v’higgiatnu, lazman hazeh. Amen. Lighting of the Candles

When we light candles we are creating a new space. We light candles to signify the beginning of the Passover seder. Just as the lighting of candles is a transformation from darkness to light, may we all recognize that we as individuals are capable of transformation. As the candles are lit, hold the intention that you are helping to spark a new era in consciousness that is necessary in the new millennium.

Light the candles and recite the following blessing:

“Blessed are you, Source of Life, our Goddess, breath of the world, who enables us to attain holiness through connections and connects us with the lighting of the holiday candles.”

Brucha at Shechina, elotaynu, ruach ha-olam asher kiddishatnu b’mitzvoteya, v’tzivatnu, l’hadlik neyr shel yom tov. 1st Cup of Wine  Recitation of the Kiddush

Everyone at the table has a glass or cup of wine before them.

A Cup to our Ancestors

One person reads the directions for this meditation slowly aloud: Close your eyes and focus on your body breathing/being breathed. Draw to your mind your ancestors—genetic or spiritual. Imagine them in the different places they lived, the lands and seas they traveled, by choice and for their lives, in freedom and enslaved. Imagine them holding what was precious to them, imagine this gift coming down through the generations to you. Imagine the places they were broken and take a moment to feel the body of your ancestors, its stitches and its scars. (wait) Thank them for the parts of your heritage you love and forgive them for the pain. Now visualize yourself as the ancestor of the generations to come. Accept their gratitude and forgiveness. (wait)

Everyone open your eyes and read together: We invite to the room the spirits of our ancestors. We honor you and we forgive you. Thank you for bringing us to this moment. May our lives contribute to the healing of all of our peoples, and all of the worlds. All recite the blessing over the wine:

“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Creator of the fruit of the vine.”

Baruch Ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha- olam, borei p’ri hagafen. Baruch Ata, Adonai Eloheinu, melech haolam, asher bachar banu mikol am, v’rom’manu mikol lashon, v’kid’shanu b’mitsvotav. Vatiten lanu Adonai Eloheinu b’ahava (shabatot lim’nucha u) moadim l’sim’cha chagim uz’manim l’sason et yom (hashabat hazeh v’et yom) chag hamatzot hazeh z’man cheiruteinu (b’ahava) mik’ra kodesh zeicher litsiat Mits’rayim. Ki vanu vachar’ta v’otanu kidash’ta mikol ha-amim (v’shabat) umoadei kod’sh’cha (b’ahava uv’ratson) b’sim’cha uv’sason hin’chal’tanu. Baruch Ata, Adonai, m’kadeish (hashabat v) Yisraeil v’haz’manim.

Everyone drinks the first cup of wine.

Urchatz (Washing hands) Ceremonial washing of hands by leader Karpas (Eating greens dipped in salt water) Even before the Exodus from Egypt, each spring our people celebrated creation and the mystery of life. As we did then, we now remind ourselves that both the tender greens of the earth and the salts of the sea are joined together to sustain life. We remind ourselves that in slavery the salt of our tears released our strength to survive. Remembering our connection to the natural world around us, we cry also for the oppression of the earth—a condition that need not be. But we willingly plunge ourselves into the sadness in order to emerge bathed in the waters that will stir our action and our renewal. It is a mikveh in a salty Miriam’s well. Like all people, our people in ancient times celebrated the liberation of the earth itself from wintery darkness and rejoiced in the yearly rebirth of nature. This is beautifully described in the Song of Songs.

Song of Songs (2:10-13) My beloved spoke thus to me, “Arise, my darling; My fair one, come away! For now the winter is past The rains are over and gone. The blossoms have appeared in the land, The time of pruning has come; The song of the turtledove Is heard in our land. The green figs form on the tree The vines in blossom give off fragrance. Arise, my darling; My fair one, come away!” Everyone takes a portion of greens, and each person dips their greens in salt water.

All recite the blessing:

“Blessed are You, Goddess among us, Queen of Existence, Creator of the fruit of the earth.”

Brucha At, Shekhina, malchat ha- olam, borei p’ri ha-adama.

Eat greens dipped in salt water. Read silently:

The Tremor in the Seed Long before the struggle upward begins, There is tremor in the seed. Self-protection cracks, Roots reach down and grab hold. The seed swells, and tender shoots Push up toward light. This is karpas: spring awakening growth. A force so tough it can break stone.

And why do we dip karpas into salt water?

To remember the sweat and tears of our ancestors in bondage.

To taste the bitter tears of our earth, unable to fully renew itself this spring because of our waste, neglect, and greed.

To feel the sting of society’s refusal to celebrate the blossoming of women’s bodies and the full range of our capacity for love.

And why should salt water be touched by karpas? To remind us that tears stop. Spring comes. And with it the potential for change. (by Ronnie M. Horn) Yachatz (Breaking the middle matzah) First it is the custom to divide the matzah of freedom in two. One part we keep here with the rest of the matzot. The second part, called the afikoman, we hide. After the meal, we will hunt for it and the finder will be rewarded. When the hidden part is found, we will put the two halves together again, and this will be a sign that what is broken off is not really lost to our people, as long as we remember and search. Each of us will then eat a bit of the ceremonial matzah, in place of the lamb eaten in the days of the Temple. One of the explanations for the significance of the matzah, the unleavened bread, dates back to the time of our agrarian foreparents, when Pesach was the first grain festival of the year. On the second day of Pesach, a new sheaf of barley was brought to the sanctuary and waved over the altar. This day began the counting of the “omer” (Hebrew for “sheaf”). The Jews would count 49 days, at the end of which the barley was harvested and a festival held called Shavuot (“weeks”). Later on, when Pesach became the celebration of the liberation from slavery in Egypt, matzah became the symbol of the “bread of affliction” which our ancestors had to eat during their exodus because there wasn’t enough time for leavened bread to rise. Commentators have variously interpreted the three pieces of matzah as representing: Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; creation, revelation and redemption; the three aspects of life expressed in assertion (which requires one), tension (which requires two), and resolution (which requires three); and many other threads of meaning. In all probability, our foreparents ate matzah as slaves, too, as simple, flat bread was commonly eaten by people of many cultures. It continues to serve throughout the world as poor people’s bread, whether in the form of matzah, tortillas, chapati or johnnycake. It can be kneaded and baked quickly by overworked wimmin, is filling and practical, and is easy to pack and preserve for several days.

Someone breaks the middle matzah and places one part back under the cover.

Hide the afikoman. (Afikoman is a Greek word meaning dessert.) Maggid (Telling the story) Someone holds aloft the plate with the uncovered matzot.

Now we repeat the call to Passover:

All recite: This is the bread of affliction that our ancestors ate in Egypt. Let all who are hungry, come and eat. Let all who are in need, come and celebrate the Passover. Now we are here—next year, may we be children of freedom!

Read aloud: The words “haggadah” and “maggid” share the same Hebrew root, which means “to tell.” “Telling” is the defining obligation of the Passover seder; we tell the story of our Exodus, our journey from slavery to freedom. There are other holidays during which we are specifically obligated to listen. On Purim, we are commanded to hear the reading of the Book of Esther. On Rosh Hashanah, we are required to hear the call of the shofar. But on Passover, we must open our mouths and speak; we are obligated to tell this story in our own voice.

Read aloud: God-Wrestlers Tonight we speak of the people who left Egypt—the Israelites—whose name comes from the Hebrew word meaning “one who wrestles with God.” In this sense, anyone who wrestles with God is an Israelite, regardless of the accident of ancestry, tribe, religion, or family of origin. Tonight we recognize that the seder is not only about retelling the history of the Jewish people but also about taking time, through ritual and reflection, to remember what God does for each of us, when God leads us forth from the narrow place, from the house of bondage. Let us welcome to our table all who hunger to be part of this ritual. Tonight we will each take seriously the essential Pesach question: How do we, individually and as a community, step out of mitzrayim—the narrow place—toward freedom, liberation of spirit, expansion of mind and soul? (by Deena Metzger) Read silently:

The Question I Wait For

It happened again when I was in Jerusalem several years ago, at a seder that was lovingly prepared. There we were in our linen clothes, fresh and eager to participate in the evening’s ritual, the festival of freedom. We were planning to do our part to bring a better world into being. A young guest patiently listened to much talk of freedom and the end of slavery, and then voiced a question: “How can we sit here and celebrate our freedom when so many other people are now enslaved?” There was a silence. Then, tentatively, one by one, guests began trying to answer the question. And as the conversation haltingly continued, to my mind the real seder began. This is the question I wait for every year. I have come to believe that the entire ritual of the seder is meant to evoke this question. We sit here together and extol and praise our freedom just so that we can ask how we dare to do so. How dare we spend the night singing to God about our freedom against the backdrop of an enslaved world? The paradoxical answer to this question is at the crux of why I return to the seder table spring after spring. Precisely because the world is broken, because there is still suffering and injustice, we must sit here and dwell on the miracle of our freedom from slavery. By telling our story together, we affirm that while not everyone is free, that while even we ourselves are not wholly free, there is still freedom in our world. We remember in a rush what freedom feels like. And together, over the course of the telling, we re-create a communal vision of a better world. We voice our desire that we be not only the recipients of freedom but its instigators as well—a people ready to birth freedom at a moment’s notice. Through our ritual and in our readiness, we isolate freedom, we stake it out, we approach it. It is like any other act of faith. We know that there is pain in our world. But on this night, we do not let that pain paralyze us. We quietly but unmistakably deny pain the right to define our life’s work. Rather, on this night, we gather together in our homes to stare into the eyes of freedom. We throw our mighty hands and our outstretched arms around its neck and refuse to let it go. (by Noa Rachel Kushner) Read silently:

On Questioning at the Seder The Four Questions asked at the Passover seder are understood as a celebration of children’s curiosity and a manifestation of our tradition’s esteem of the act of questioning. Tonight, we ask ourselves how many real questions these scripted questions, and the seder itself, allow us to ask. The ability to honestly question the status quo is one of the defining elements of freedom. Indeed, the danger of patriarchy—or of other oppressive social hierarchies—is not only its overt violence and dehumanization but also that it threatens to make the inequality on which it is based a part of each individual’s consciousness. Oppression is victorious when it becomes so taken for granted that criticism does not need to be actively suppressed. No one even thinks of asking “why” or “how” or “who benefits from this arrangement” or “are there other ways in which we can live?”

Searching for Yourself What does liberation mean to you?

How is it important in your life at this time?

Please take a short time to share in small groups with those seated near you. The Four Questions Let us all be wise here, and full of questions. Everything in the Seder has meaning. Even if we were full of wisdom, venerable sages all, steeped in Torah, it would still be incumbent upon us to recount the exodus from Egypt and examine each word.

Why is this night different from all other nights? On all other nights, we eat either leavened bread or matzah; on this night—only matzah. On all other nights, we eat all kinds of herbs; on this night we especially eat bitter herbs. On all other nights, we do not dip herbs at all; on this night we dip them twice. On all other nights, we eat in an ordinary manner; tonight we dine with special ceremony.

nish’tana halai’la hazeh mikol haleilot, mikol haleilot? Sheb’chol haleilot anu och’lin chameitz umatzah, chameitz umatzah. Halai’la hazeh, halai’la hazeh, kulo matzah. Halai’la hazeh, halai’la hazeh, kulo matzah. 2. Sheb’chol haleilot anu och’lin sh’ar y’rakot, halai’la hazeh maror. 3. Sheb’chol haleilot ein anu mat’bilin afilu pa-am echat, halai’la hazeh sh’tei f’amim. 4. Sheb’chol haleilot anu och’lin bein yosh’vin uvein m’subin, halai’la hazeh kulanu m’subin. Why on this night do we eat only matzot? Avadot hayinu—we were slaves. We were slaves in the land of Egypt. Our mothers in their flight from bondage in Egypt did not have time to let the dough rise, so they baked flat bread, called matzah. The Bible tells us, “They were thrust out of Egypt and could not tarry, neither had they prepared for themselves any victuals” [Exodus 12:39]. In memory of this, we eat only matzot, no bread, during Passover.

Why on this night do we eat bitter herbs? Avadot hayinu—As we eat the bitter herbs, we remember our own suffering as slaves in Egypt and acknowledge the pain of the earth under our hands. Let us affirm that we will not do to the earth as the Egyptians did to us. Let us say that we will stand for the rights of the Palestinian people. When in your life do you stand in the role of oppressor? What can you do to change this?

Why do we dip our greens twice? Avadot hayinu—we were slaves. The first time we dip our greens to taste the brine of enslavement. But the second time, we dip to remind ourselves of all life and growth, of earth and sea, combined through divine power to give us sustenance. The second time we shall dip in charoset, to remind ourselves of the mortar that our ancestors mixed as slaves to the Pharaohs in Egypt. But our charoset is a mixture of sweet fruits, nuts and wine, to show us that in their bitter time of slavery, our ancestors hoped for the sweet delights of freedom which we are tasting tonight, and to say that even in times of slavery we may draw close to the Divine and thereby taste freedom.

Why do we recline while we eat? Avadot hayinu—we were slaves. Reclining at the table was a sign of freedom in olden times. Since our ancestors were freed from slavery, we recline to remind ourselves that we, like our ancestors, can overcome bondage in our own time. The Four Children The Torah speaks of four children: one who is wise, and one who is contrary, one who is simple, and one who does not even know how to ask a question. In this seder, we will consider four different responses to activism. The overzealous child says: “There are so many problems. I must solve them all.” To per you must say, it is better to choose your cause and fight for it because you will make the most difference when you concentrate your energies on what you are most passionate about. If we each choose our commitment, when we come together, all the problems will be addressed. It’s okay to keep your hopes high if you remember to take it one step at a time. The pessimistic child says: “The problems are too overwhelming. I cannot do anything about them.” To per you must say, do not let the sorrows of the world prevent you from action. Start with one small action on behalf of a better world. Many times in history one person’s efforts have made a difference, and setting a good example can inspire others. Remember that you don’t need to go it alone—as you get more involved you will find support from others dedicated to the same cause. The apathetic child says: “The problems don’t affect me. Why should i do anything about them?” To per you must say, do you enjoy going for a walk in the forest? Do you want to prevent your loved ones from dying of cancers? Do you see that our society must learn to make wiser decisions, or else perish? Becoming active helps you at least as much as it helps others. The issues at hand affect your life directly. Take action to call into being a healthier world for you and your children. The ignorant child says: “Problems? What problems?” To per you must explain the challenges facing the world with which you are familiar. Take per for a walk in a clearcut to show per the destruction that is taking place. Share relevant writings. Invite per to come to meetings with you where people are focused and passionate. Encourage per to become involved in a cause they care about. Egg Someone holds up the egg from the passover plate.

After the escape from Egypt, the Israelites came into their promised land and built their Temple in Jerusalem. To the Temple they brought festival offerings, in thanksgiving for the fertility of their fields and flocks. This egg recalls such offerings. This egg reminds us of the birth-death-rebirth cycle of which all life is a part.

Shank Bone Someone holds up the shank bone.

This shank bone is the reminder of the Passover lamb, of the Divine instruction to the Hebrews in Egypt to sacrifice a lamb and mark their doorposts with its blood. This was a sign for the Angel of Death to pass over their houses and strike only Egyptians, to cause them to set free their slaves.

Again we ask ourselves, how did we become slaves in Egypt? The Story of Passover • Exodus It is told that God spoke to Jacob, that his descendants should live in Canaan, the Promised Land. And Jacob and Rachel lived in the land, and prospered and had many daughters and sons. The youngest, Joseph, was his father’s favorite, but his brothers were very jealous. They sold him into slavery in Egypt. In Egypt he became great man, a trusted minister of the Pharaoh. There came a famine in the land of Canaan, and Jacob’s family and their flocks went to Egypt in search of food. They heard that an official there had stored away grain in case of emergency. To their surprise, the official turned out to be their brother Joseph. And Joseph, recognizing his kinfolk, gave them help. Thus Jacob’s family settled in the land of Egypt, where they lived and multiplied. Many years later, there arose a new Pharaoh in the land, who did not know Joseph and his people. The children of Israel had become many, and the king feared they might war against him. He set over them taskmasters, enslaving them to build the great cities Pithom and Raamses. Many hands were needed to make bricks of clay and straw. The Pharaoh heard from his court astrologer that a boy would soon be born who would set the Israelites free. In order to prevent this, the king ordered two Egyptian midwives, Puah and Siphrah, to kill all boy babies as they were born to Jewish mothers. When the midwives refused to obey his command, the Pharaoh ordered all Egyptians to report the births of Jewish boys. When Pharoah decreed his intention to kill all the male offspring, Amram, head of the Hebrew council, divorced his wife Yocheved. But several years later, their daughter Miriam prophesied, “Another son shall be born to my parents, and he shall free Israel from bondage.” She reproved her father, telling him, “Pharaoh intends the destruction of the male children, while your decision would deprive the Hebrew nation of all posterity—female and male. It is unlikely that Pharaoh’s decree will succeed, because he is wicked and unjust, but yours is likely to be upheld because you are pious and good.” This made sense to Amram, and so he once more led Yocheved under the wedding canopy, while Miriam and her brother Aaron danced around it. Soon, the followers of Amram had remarried. When a son was born to Yocheved soon after, the boy was successfully hidden for three months, until she made a basket of reeds and set it out on the Nile where the Pharaoh’s daughter Thermutis was known to bathe each morning. Miriam hid among the reeds to watch the basket. When the princess found the basket and began to coo over the baby, Miriam ran out and told her she knew of a nursing mother who could feed and take care of the infant. Thus Yochebed was hired to be the baby’s nurse. The princess gave him the name Moses, which means “drawn out of the water.” Moses learned about the Jews from his mother, along with learning many other subjects from the palace tutors. One day, when he was grown, he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew. Enraged by the sight, he struck and killed the Egyptian. He then fled from Egypt, dwelling in the land of Midian as a shepherd. One day as he was guarding his sheep, he saw a thorn bush in flames. The bush burned but was not consumed, and God spoke to Moses from the bush. He told him of the suffering of the Jews. Moses did not want to return to Egypt, but God commanded him to return in order to free his people. Again and again, Moses and his brother Aaron stood before Pharaoh and cried out, “Let my people go!” But the king’s heart was hardened, and he refused. For each refusal, a plague was sent upon Egypt, but the Jews, living in the town of Goshen, were spared. The river turned to blood. Frogs infested the land, then gnats, then swarms of flies. Cattle disease killed their livestock. Boils broke out on their flesh. A hailstorm came, and whatever crops were not destroyed then were killed by locusts next. When the Pharaoh refused for a ninth time, darkness lay over the land for three full days. Each time, when the plague was most distressing, the Pharaoh would agree to let the Jews go. But as soon as the plague was lifted, he would change his mind. Finally God said to Moses, “One more plague will I bring upon Egypt, and then he will let you go; nay, he will drive you out of the land. For on this night I will send the Angel of Death to strike down all first-born males of the Egyptians.” The Jews were carefully instructed to spread blood from the paschal lamb offering on their doorposts, so that the Angel of Death would know which houses to pass over. When Pharaoh’s own son was stricken, he arose in the night and commanded the Jews to leave immediately. The Hebrews departed in great haste, such that there was not even time for bread in the oven to rise. When they came to the Red Sea, the king again broke his word, sending his chariots to pursue them. But the Lord caused the waters to part, allowing the Jews safe passage. When the Egyptian soldiers tried to follow, the waters closed upon them and the army drowned. Grateful for their rescue, the Jews rejoiced, for now they were a free people. “And the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great terror and with signs and wonders.” The Ten Plagues We take drops from our wine cup to decrease our joy. As each plague is read, dip your finger in your wine and take one drop onto your plate instead. We have already heard of the plagues of old. In modern times, our plagues are:

Recite together: 1. War 6. Racism 2. Global Warming 7. Hunger 3. Extinction of Species 8. Corporate Rule 4. Loss of Languages 9. Disconnection 5. Poverty 10. Hopelessness

Oseh Shalom Oseh Shalom Bim’romav Hu ya’aseh shalom, aleynu, v’al kol yisrael v’imru, imru amen Ya’aseh shalom, ya’aseh shalom, shalom aleynu, v’al kol yisrael

May he who makes peace in high places Grant peace to all of the people Israel, and to all people everywhere, And let us say, “Amen.” Dayeinu In traditional haggadot, we express our gratitude for all that was done for our people from the time we fled Egypt until the Temple was built in Israel. We say that each of those blessings alone “would have been enough.” However, it is also required that we stand up to create a better world. So at this seder, we recite the following:

How many and how hard are the tasks the Redeemer has set before us! If we were to share our food and end all hunger, but not to free our earth and air of poisons, it would not be enough. If we were to free our earth and air of poisons, but not to beat the swords of every nation into plowshares, it would not be enough. If we were to beat the swords of every nation into plowshares, but not to free the poets from the prisons and the peoples of the world, it would not be enough. If we were to free the poets from the prisons and the peoples of the world, but not to free each person to be fully humyn, it would not be enough. If we were to free all people to be fully humyn, but not free ourselves to know You, it would not be enough.

Then how great, doubled and redoubled, are the claims the Redeemer makes upon our effort! You call us to struggle, work, share, give, think, plan, organize, sit in, speak out, dream, hope and pray for the great Redemption: to share our food and end all hunger, to free our earth and air of poison, to beat the swords of every nation into plowshares, to free the poets from the prisons, to end the oppression of all peoples, and to free ourselves to know You. Alternative verses: I) Ilu natan lanu et hashabat, dayeinu. 2) Ilu natan lanu et hatorah, dayeinu.

Had God only taken us out from the bondage of Egypt it would have been enough. Rachtzah (Washing of hands by everyone) “Blessed are You, our God, Creator of the Universe, Who makes us holy with mitzvot and commands us concerning the washing of the hands.”

Baruch Ata, Adonai Eloheinu, melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitsvotav v’tsivanu al-n’tilat yadayim.

2nd Cup of Wine With the second cup of wine, we symbolize the return of spring, and new beginnings. The fruit of the vine is starting to bloom now, and we give thanks for the fruits of the earth. Wine is also a symbol of joy and freedom; to drink wine is to celebrate life.

Lift the wine cup, saying:

“Blessed are you, Source of Life, our Goddess, breath of the world, Creator of the fruit of the vine.”

Brucha at Shechina, elotaynu, ruach ha-olam, borei p’ri hagafen.

All drink the second cup of wine. Motzi Matzah (Blessing and eating the matzah) Half-Baked Bread As our people hurried to flee from Egypt they took with them half-baked bread, pulled from the ovens before it was really ready. The bread was incomplete, unfinished—as it is in our world. Here we live, in a universe that is still a work in progress, still in need of completion. Here we live in a world that is, like matzah, still broken, in need of wholeness and repair. Rabbi Tarphon once said: “The day is short, and the work is great; the workers are sluggish, and the reward is much … You are not required to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” As we bless this unfinished bread we make a commitment to tikkun olam— the repair of the world. We set for ourselves the task of helping to bring about the perfection of the universe and all that is in us.

All break off a small portion of ceremonial matzah, saying: “Blessed are You, Goddess among us, Queen of Existence, who brings forth bread from the earth.”

Brucha At Shekhina, malchat ha-olam, hamotsi lechem min ha-arets. “Blessed are You, our God, Creator of the Universe, who makes us holy with mitzvot and commands us to eat unleavened bread.”

Baruch Ata, Adonai Eloheinu, melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitsvotav v’tsivanu al achilat matza.

Everyone eat the matzah. Maror (Blessing and eating the bitter herb)

How Far Would We Go? Rabban Gamliel said: “Whoever does not discuss the meaning of the following three symbols of the seder on Passover evening has not fulfilled their duty”: Pesach, matzah, and maror. Pesach: What sacrifices would we make for freedom today? What would we leave behind? How far would we go? How deeply would we look within ourselves? Matzah: Our ancestors had no time to wait for their bread to rise. Yet, we, who have that time—what do we do to be worthy of our precious inheritance? Maror: We were slaves in Egypt, but now we are free. How easy it is for us to relive the days of our historical bondage as we sit in the warmth and comfort of our seder. How much harder to relieve the pain of those who live in bitterness and oppression today. As we taste the bitterness of these herbs, let us pause and ask if we in any way add to the legacy of hatred and segregation? Let us commit to ensure that all our actions come from a place of love and respect for Life, acknowledging that we are all one.

Please take a short time to share in small groups with those seated near you.

Now we each will take a bit of the bitter herb to fulfill the commandment of this night to eat the bitter herb.

“Blessed art Thou, our God, Creator of the Universe, who makes us holy with mitzvot and commands us to eat bitter herbs.”

Baruch Ata, Adonai Eloheinu, melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitsvotav v’tsivanu al achilat maror.

Everyone eats the maror on matzah. Koreich (Combining matzah and maror) Tradition adds one more custom, in honor of the great teacher Hillel, head of the rabbinic academy in Jerusalem at the time of the Romans. A non-Jew asked the rabbi to teach him the entire Torah while he stood on one foot. Hillel said, “Do unto others what you would have them do unto you. That is the whole Torah. The rest is commentary. Now go and study.” On Passover, Hillel followed precisely the instruction about the sanctified lamb. “Upon unleavened bread and bitter herbs shall they eat it.” So he placed a bit of the pascal offering on the matzah, with bitter herbs. In remembrance of the Temple and Hillel, we shall place the bitter herb with charoset on the matzah.

Everyone eats their “Hillel sandwich.”

B’chol dor vador It says in the Mishnah, the collection of Jewish law included in the Talmud, in the section Pesachim, that it is incumbent upon each person gathered at a Seder to recite the following words:

In all generations it is the duty of a person to consider oneself as if one had come forth from the land of Egypt.”

B’chol dor vador chayevet isha lir’ot et’ats’ma k’ilu hi yatsa mimits’rayim. Memory Silent Reading Standing on the corner of 72nd and Amsterdam, a flag in one hand A sheaf of flyers in the other, Hollering for workers’ rights to unionize, I wonder if my grandmother My great-grandmother Ever stood on this spot, this exact spot in New York City On her way somewhere If she paused and looked up What did she see? She sees important offices she will Never enter, nice, well-furnished homes she will never keep, perhaps She sees nothing—after a twelve-hour day basting seams in a Sweatshop, who looks up at the sky? But does she see me, Her American girl-child crystallized in her bones, Imbued in her blood, biding my time Waiting to redeem her To grow up comfortably, Never sleep hungry, go to college, Lose all her stories and her Yiddish behind my clumsy American tongue, Peppering my speech with the occasional oy or genug Standing on this street corner She stands for a moment’s respite Between the shirtwaist factory And the withered cabbage and potatoes at home, waiting to be chopped She doesn’t look up This is because of what the Lord my God did for me when I was a slave In the land of Egypt, when I worked for five dollars a week in a Lower East Side sweatshop I hand out flyers on a crowded street full of people with other things on Their minds, my desperation To make myself worthy of you (by Jenny Aisenberg) Shulchan Oreich (The festive meal) EAT!

Tzafun (Finding the Afikoman) After the meal, all the children hunt for the Afikoman, for the seder cannot be concluded without it The child who finds it is permitted to ransom it off to the gathering.

The afikoman is matched with the other part of the matzah from the plate.

The holder says: We began by dividing this bread and hiding part of it; for if we hold tight to what we have, we keep ourselves in tight and narrow spaces. Only by sending forth part of ourselves into the unknown can we give birth to freedom. What is broken shall be made whole. What is shattered shall be restored. Our hope is ourselves, to find what is lost, bring it together, and restore our faith.

Distribute and eat the afikoman.

Birkat Hamazon (Blessing after the meal)

Let Us Say Grace Friends, Let us say grace. Or shall we ask for grace?

God, Help us to be comforted by the faith that we are not alone, And the understanding that there is meaning and purpose to our lives. Help us to understand the desert journey. Though we wander in an apparent wilderness, The silence resounds with messages of comfort. Guide us, O God of Miriam, show us the way.

So much of life is the steep climb up a mountain That rumbles and shakes with Your presence, O God. Teach us not to be afraid to climb enormous heights, Though it takes our breath away Because it leads to truth and helps us befriend life’s mysteries.

Friends, Shall we say grace? Or shall we acknowledge that we live in grace When we know that we are loved and chosen For unique and wondrous things, That we are called to greatness by our passion.

God, help me find my passion, My mission. Help me hear the melody of the silence. And see the possibility in the vastness. I know that the ground beneath my feet is holy I know that it is, Friends let us say grace. (by Karyn D. Kedar) “Blessed are You, our God, Provider for the Universe, Who sustains the whole world with loving kindness and mercy. You give food to all creatures. With goodness and grace you have fed us. Thank you God, for continuing to nourish all people.”

Baruch hu uvaruch sh’mo. Brucha At, Shekhina, malchat ha-olam. Hazan et ha-olam kulo b’tuvo b’chein b’chesed uv’rachamim hu notein lechem l’chol basar ki l’olam chas’do. Uv’tuvo hagadol tamid lo chasar lanu v’al yech’sar lanu mazon l’olam va-ed ba-avur sh’mo hagadol. Ki hu eil zan um’far’neis lakol umeitiv lakol umeichin mazon l’chol b’riyotav asher bara. Baruch Ata Adonai, hazan et hakol. 3rd Cup of Wine For sustenance and hope, for perseverance and vision.

Lift the third cup of wine and say:

“Blessed are You, Goddess among us, Queen of Existence, Creator of the fruit of the vine.”

Broo-cha At, Shekhina, malchat ha-olam, borei p’ri hagafen.

Drink the third cup of wine.

Nirtza (Accepting God’s covenant)

4th Cup of Wine What action will you take in the future, for the liberation of all beings?

“Let us bless the Wholly One, honoring our tradition as we taste the fruit of the vine.”

Nevarech et YAH u’n’chabed et masorteinu b’ochleinu mi p’ri hagafen. The Long Road Alone, you can fight, you can refuse, you can take what revenge you can But they roll over you.

But two people fighting back to back can cut through a mob, a snake-dancing file can break a cordon, an army can meet an army.

Two people can keep each other sane, can give support, conviction, love, massage, hope, sex. Three people are a delegation, a committee, a wedge. With four you can play bridge and start an organization. With six you can rent a whole house, eat a pie for dinner with no seconds, and hold a fund-raising party. A dozen can hold a demonstration. A hundred fill a hall. A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter; ten thousand, power and your own paper; a hundred thousand, your own media; ten million, your own country.

It goes one at a time, it starts when you care to act, it starts when you do it again after they said no, it starts when you say We and know who you mean, and each day you mean one more. (by Marge Piercy) Redemption Seemed as Close as the Kitchen Sink We have reached the end of the seder. We have traveled through sacred time, making the journey from slavery to freedom. We have pushed the limits of our imaginations, embracing the idea that we, too, were slaves in Egypt, and we, too, will celebrate next year’s seder in a Jerusalem filled with peace. We have savored the taste of a dry, humble cracker—at once the bread of poverty and the symbol of our redemption. Tonight, we have shared our table with prophets and let the voices of our ancestors mingle with our own songs of praise. And now, that intensity begins to fade away. We look around through tired eyes—there is wine spilled on the table, matzah crumbs cover the floor. It is time to do the dishes. We are poised, right now, somewhere between Jerusalem and our kitchen sinks. The demands of the ordinary pull us away from the seder’s extraordinary delights, and we are faced with the task of keeping the songs of freedom ringing in our ears. There is no easy way to do this; no simple formula can guide every one of us. But each of us needs to reflect: What does it mean to say that God brought our ancestors out of Egypt? What does it mean to say that we, too, were slaves in that place? What are the consequences of these words? What kinds of responsibilities do they place on us? How do we walk away from this table and still keep the teachings of this evening close to our hearts? Tonight, let’s turn away from platitudes and easy answers. Let’s acknowledge how hard it is to keep the seder with us, how difficult it is to stay in touch with wonder, gratitude, and the call to justice. Soon we will clear away the glasses and sweep up the crumbs. But sometime in the coming year, we may notice the smallest crumb of matzah stuck between the cracks in the floor. And if that happens, perhaps we will hold that crumb in our hands and be brought back to this moment, when redemption seemed as close as the kitchen sink. (by Deborah Glanzberg-Krainin)

L’shana haba-a biy’rushalayim!

Next year in Jerusalem!

Behold how good and how pleasant it is for sisters to dwell together.

Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, nor ever again shall they train for war. SUPPLEMENTARY READINGS

Next Year They arrived at the Seder, unannounced and tried to squeeze their thin bodies in a chair. They had more than four questions to ask. Four cups of wine could not slake their thirst. They were ghosts from Brazil, Iran, Russia, Poland; lost shtetls. Jews of the blackened chimneys.

They knew secret places to hide the afikomen. They sang and danced wildly to invisible violins. Later, exhausted, they reclined like noblemen at a grand feast.

When it was time to leave, they used threadbare sleeves to wipe the matzah crumbs from their grape-stained lips.

They vanished into the night. The host, sensing something amiss, ran outside. Gazing up, he found them clustered, like stars. He whispered hoarsely, “Come back, next year! Next year!”

(by Gertrude Rubin) The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising The first night of Passover, April 19, 1943, is a historic date in modern Jewish history, the dale of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. The Nazis had planned to liquidate the Ghetto as a birthday present for Hitler—a Judenrein Warsaw—a Warsaw empty of Jews. But the Jews knew of their plans and were prepared. Unable to take the ghetto by military force, the Germans destroyed the Ghetto in desperation, brick by brick. With the Warsaw Ghetto in flames, the fighters turned to guerilla activity and lived in underground bunkers. When the bunkers were dynamited, the Jews fought from the sewers. And when the poison gas poured on the sewers the survivors struggled on amid the charred rubble of the Ghetto. On May 16 the Germans announced that the fighting was over and that “the Jewish quarter of Warsaw no longer exists.” But even after the Nazis claimed their victory, there were still hundreds of Jews in the subterranean bunkers of the Ghetto, which was now a heap of ruins. Sporadic skirmishes continued over the next several months. It took Hitler longer to subdue the Jews of Warsaw than to conquer all of Czechoslovakia and Poland. One of the most amazing ironies of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising is that it began on the first night of Passover—the celebration of the liberation from bondage, the celebration of spring, rebirth, the gathering of Jewish people to face down tyranny and assert their right to liberty. It is fitting that at our seder we remember and pay homage to those who gave their lives for our honor and freedom. SEDER PLATE “There was a time when you were not a slave. Remember that. You walked alone, full of laughter, you bathed bare-bellied ...You say you have lost all recollection; you say there are no words to describe this time; you say it does not exist. But remember— make an effort to remember. Or failing that, invent.” —Monique Wittig (1935-2003)