WELCOME TO THE PASSOVER SEDER

In the northern hemisphere, Passover (or Pesach in Hebrew) coincides with the
beginning of spring: a time for renewal, rethinking, rebirth. We throw open the
windows of our houses, we sweep away winter's grit and dust. The story of
Passover is a story of liberation and new beginnings: what better time to rethink
our own liberation than now, as new green appears?

Seder means “order” in Hebrew and Yiddish. The Passover seder is a dinner
theater, and the Haggadah is the script. Each year we tell the story of the liberation
of the Jewish slaves from Egypt, or the mitzrayim ("the narrow place"). Passover is
naturally the highlight of the year for leftist Jews. It is a festival both of celebration
and of mourning and struggle. The seder takes us through the story of the
oppression and the liberation of our ancestors. We are invited to rejoice in our
freedoms, while holding close the stories of those who are still not free and the
ways in which we are still not free, ourselves.

May our Passover seder be joyous and soulful. May it have moments of loudness
and moments of quiet. May it create a space to feel the pain of our own oppression
and that of others, and may it create a space to celebrate the liberation we have
won, and the liberations we will win. May our seder lean on the past and branch
out into the future, but may it be rooted in the present. May it be diasporist. May it
be revolutionary. May we all live in a better world next year, free from
oppressions, and may we all work to create that world. May this Passover spring
give us the insight and courage to create ourselves anew.

ABOUT ISRAEL (BAD, GROSS)

The word Yisrael (or Israel) when found in the liturgy does not refer to the modern
nation-state of Israel. Rather it derives from the blessing given to Ya’akov (Jacob)
by a stranger with whom he wrestles all night. When Ya’akov finally pins the
stranger down, he asks him for a blessing. The stranger says, “Your name will no
longer be Ya’akov but Yisrael for you have wrestled with God and triumphed.”
Therefore, when we say “Yisrael” in prayer we are referring to being
Godwrestlers, not Israelis.

Fuck Israel. Free Palestine. May we continually work to liberate our Jewish rituals
from Israel and Israeli settler colonialism. May the celebrations and hopes towards
liberation at this table reach the struggle in Palestine.

CANDLELIGHTING
Lighting the candles marks the beginning of Passover, moving us from the
franticness of our daily lives to focus on our festival and our community. Candles
symbolize an end of winter, a beginning of spring, and a long history of struggle
against oppression. We must join with all oppressed peoples, honoring both our
differences and our need to work together for the future. Lighting these candles, we
create the sacred space of the festival of liberation; we sanctify the coming-
together of our community.

All say the blessing: Blessed is the spirit of freedom in whose honor we kindle the
lights of this holiday, Passover, the season of Freedom. Blessed are you, Adonai,
who sanctifies us with your commandment to kindle the holiday lights.

Ba-ruch ata Adonai

Elo-hei-nu melech ha-olam
Asher kee-d’sha-nu b’meetz-vo-tav
V’tzee-va-nu l‘had-leek ner shel Yom Tov

THE MEANING OF PESACH

With Jews around the world, tonight we gather to celebrate the Festival of Pesach.
Our reading will recall and explain the story of the Exodus – the miraculous
deliverance of the Jewish people from slavery, through peril and in the face of
impossible odds, to freedom.

This festival is about celebrating not only physical but also spiritual freedom not
just for historic Jewish people but also for our personal selves today, and for all
people, everywhere.

We can see the story as more than about our freedom from physical bondage but
also as a spiritual pilgrimage from darkness into light that we must all try to make
over the course of our lives. Its shape is that of a dramatic and miraculous narrative
and it is important that the excitement and wonder of the story itself, the events
that happened on that night which it makes it different from all other nights, should
not be lost sight of. The rejoicing that ends the night is possible only if the events
that came before are fully realized- the pain of struggle and the difficulties and
excitement of the deliverance.

So tonight’s service should not only end in celebration of our freedom but give
each of us an opportunity to reflect upon our personal life’s journey in attempting
to move out of darkness into light. This means thinking about what we understand
now that we had not known before or had forgotten or had neglected or had
misunderstood.

Pesach is an opportunity to celebrate freedom, justice, hope, liberation, and

resistance for all people.

In the words of Leviticus (19:34) “Love the stranger as yourself, for you were
once strangers in Egypt.”

KIDDUSH
The Kiddush (a blessing said over wine) sanctifies not the wine but the holiday.
We call the holiday “z’man khayrutaynu” or “the time of our liberation.” The
Torah commands us: Remember the day of your Exodus from Egypt.” The sweet
juice of the grape is a symbol of our joy of liberation, and in sharing this festival
with our family and friends. Let us drink from our first cup together.

All say the blessing: Blessed are you, Adonai, the Eternal, determiner of the
universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.

Ba-ruch ata Adonai,

Elo-hei-nu melech ha olam
bo-rei pree ha ga-fen

ELIJAH’S CUP
In ancient times, the doors of the house were shut tight on the night of the tenth
plague. Blood marked the doorposts. However, in modern times, the doors are
opened wide in expectation and hope. This night is, as the Torah calls it, the Night
of Watching, in expectation of great changes for the better.

In the ninth century BCE, a farmer arose to challenge the domination of the ruling
elite. In his tireless and passionate advocacy on behalf of the common people, and
his ceaseless exposure of the corruption and waste of the court, Elijah sparked a
movement and created a legend which would inspire people for generations to
come.

Before he died, Elijah declared that he would return once each generation in the
guise of a poor or oppressed person, coming to people’s doors to see how he would
be treated. By the treatment offered this poor person, who would be Elijah himself,
he would know whether the world had reached a level of humanity making them
capable of participating in the dawn of ha’oylam ha’ba (the messianic age, aka
revolution). He is said to visit every seder, and sip there from his cup of wine.
The ha’oylam ha’ba is in our hands every day; we bring it closer by organizing,
caring for the most vulnerable, and caring for ourselves.

Now, we open the door to see if Elijah is there. If he is, let him in!

We raise Elijah’s cup and toast together: to the end of capitalism, to anarchism,
and to the future!

KARPAS – A Green Vegetable

Point to the Green Vegetable and say: What is this green vegetable on our seder
plate?

This KARPAS is a reminder of spring and reawakening of nature. It inspires us to

renewal and regeneration, even after the coldest winter. It reminds us that new life
needs warmth, nurturing, and protection. It reminds us that our liberation is
collective, that we need our communities and each other to achieve it. It is the bud
of revolution blossoming.

Point to the Salt Water.

This salt water on our seder table is a reminder of the tears shed by our ancestors
enslaved. The Jewish people lay dormant in slavery until they won their liberation
and were led out into the springtime. As individuals, liberation is often experienced
as a gift of new options, a sudden expansion of possibilities. However, the fresh
taste of newfound freedom symbolized by Karpas is still mingled with memories
of bitterness, the salt water of tears.

Take the green vegetable and dip it in the saltwater.

Before we eat it, we say together: This saltwater is the bitterness of oppression
and enslavement. This karpas reminds us of our own power to resist, revolt, renew,
regrow, and rebuild.

Ba-ruch ata Adonai,

Elo-hei-nu me-lech ha-olam
Bo-rei pree ha ada-ma.

Breaking the Matzah

Breaking the middle matzah in two is one of the many ritual acts that turn the food
of the seder into symbols of meaning. The Jews eat unleavened bread because the
dough they brought out of Mizrayim in their rush to leave never had a chance to
rise. Matzah is the mark of an exodus whose rapid pace overtook them unprepared.
The Pharoah who enslaved them suddenly expelled them after God brought the
plague on the first born.

Systems of oppression break our world in so many ways large and small. They
shatter bodies, families, communities, sometimes whole nations. As we break the
matzah now, we ask ourselves: how do we benefit from the perpetuation of
oppressive systems? What are we willing to do about it? And where might we
start? What is broken can never be what it once was. But it can be repaired.

All say: This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.
Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are needy come and celebrate
Passover with us. Now we are separate; next year may we be together. Now we are
oppressed; next year may we be free.

The Four Questions:

All Sing:
Mah nishtanah halaila hazeh mikol halaylot?
Shebakhol halaylot anu okhleen khamaytz u’matzah, halaila hazeh kulo matzah.
Shebakhol halaylot anu okhleen sh’ahr y’rakot, halaila hazeh maror.
Shebakhol halaylot ayn anu matbeeleen afeelu pa’am akhat, halaila hazeh sh’tay
f’ameem.
Shebakhol halaylot anu okh’leen beyn yoshveen u’vayn m’subeen, halaila hazeh
kulanu m’subeen.

The youngest at the table asks:

Why is tonight different from all other nights?
1. On all other nights we may eat either leavened bread or matzah; tonight,
only matzah, that we may recall the unleavened bread our ancestors baked in
haste when they left slavery.
 2. On all other nights we need not taste bitterness; tonight, we eat bitter herbs,
that we may recall the suffering of slavery.
3. On all other nights we needn’t dip our food in condiments even once;
tonight we dip twice, in saltwater to remember our tears when we were
enslaved, and in charoset to remember the mortar and the bricks which we
made.
4. On all other nights we eat sitting up; tonight, we recline, to remind ourselves
to savor our liberation.

In addition to the Four Questions, tonight we could ask ourselves a fifth:

We are commanded to celebrate Passover as if each one of us were personally

liberated from Mizrayim. In the next year, how do you plan to bring yourself closer
to freedom and liberation of all kinds? How can we liberate ourselves from our
learned oppressions, from the internalized violence we do to ourselves and our
communities? How can we move towards our collective liberation?

Tonight we celebrate our liberation from Mitzrayim, “the narrow place.” But
narrow places exist in more ways than one. Let this holiday make us mindful of
internal bondage which, despite outward freedom, keeps us enslaved. Let this
holiday make us address the ways we uphold and allow the violence of oppression
and create narrow places for ourselves and others.

This year, let our celebration of Passover stir us to shake off these chains. Our
liberation is in our own hands.
A STORY ABOUT SEDERS
In the traditional haggadah, without introduction or explanation, the following
account is related:

A tale is told of five rabbis: Akiba, Yehoshua, Eliezer ben Azarya, Eliezer, and
Tarfon, who were holding a seder in the town of B’nei Brak, and talked about
Pesach until dawn broke, when their students had to interrupt them saying,“Rabbis,
it is morning and time to recite the morning shema! (prayer).”

Context is everything. This story takes place during the rule of the Roman emperor
Hadrian, who ordered that the Temple be moved so he could put a temple to
Jupiter on the Temple Mount. In the year 123 of the Common Era, a guerilla
insurgency began, which resulted in a crack-down by the Roman authorities.
B’nei Brak was the headquarters of the rebellion against Roman occupation, a
rebellion of which Rabbi Akiva was a leader. Because of rebel activities, the
Roman authorities had forbidden gatherings of Jews, on pain of death. The seder
described in this passage was used not only as a chance to discuss the liberation
from Mitzrayim—but also to plan a strategy of resistance against Roman
occupation. The students were standing guard, ready to caution the rabbis to
disband at daybreak, lest they be caught.
This tale may be read as an encouragement to become so joyfully immersed in the
seder that we don’t notice the passing of time…and it may also be read as a story
of how one liberation begets another. Celebrating our freedom can be a radical act.
It was Rabbi Akiva, after all, who famously answered the query, “Which is better,
study or action?” with the response, “Study—if it leads to action.”

THE EXODUS
A story in seven short chapters
1. Once upon a time our people went into galut, exile, in the land of Egypt.
During a famine our ancestor Jacob and his family fled to Egypt where food
was plentiful. His son Joseph had risen to high position in Pharaoh’s court,
and our people were well respected and well-regarded, secure in the power
structure of the time.
2. Generations passed and our people remained in Egypt. In time, a new
Pharaoh ascended to the throne. He found our difference threatening, and
ordered our people enslaved. In fear of rebellion, Pharaoh decreed that all
Hebrew boy-children be killed. Two midwives named Shifrah and Puah
defied his orders. Through their courage, a boy survived; midrash tells us he
was radiant with light. Fearing for his safety, his family placed him in a
basket and he floated down the Nile. He was found, and adopted, by
Pharaoh’s daughter, who named him Moshe because min ha-mayim
m’shitihu, from the water she drew him forth. She hired his mother
Yocheved as his wet-nurse. He survived to adulthood, and was raised as
Prince of Egypt.
3. As he grew, Moses became aware of the slaves who worked in the
brickyards of his father. When he saw an overseer attack a slave, he struck
the overseer and killed him. Fearing retribution, he set out across the Sinai
alone. God spoke to him from a burning bush, which though it flamed was
not consumed. The Voice called him to lead the Hebrew people to freedom.
Moses argued with God, pleading inadequacy, but God disagreed.
Sometimes our responsibilities choose us.
4. Moses returned to Egypt and went to Pharaoh to argue the injustice of
slavery. He gave Pharaoh a mandate which resounds through history: Let my
people go. Pharaoh refused, and Moses warned him that Mighty God would
strike the Egyptian people. These threats were not idle: ten terrible plagues
were unleashed upon them. Only when his nation lay in ruins did Pharaoh
agree to our liberation.
5. Fearful that Pharaoh would change his mind, our people fled, not waiting for
their bread dough to rise. For this reason we eat unleavened bread as we take
part in their journey. Our people did not leave Egypt alone; many others
 went with them. From this we learn that liberation is never for us alone, but
for all, and that our struggles for freedom are always interconnected.
6. Pharaoh’s army followed us to the Sea of Reeds. We plunged into the
waters. Only when we had gone as far as we could did the waters part for us.
We mourn, even now, that Pharaoh’s army drowned: our liberation is
bittersweet because people died in our pursuit.
7. To this day we relive our liberation, that we may not become complacent,
that we may always rejoice in our freedom and struggle for the freedom of
others.

Three conclusions from the exodus story:

1. Wherever you live, it is probably in some way mizrayim.
2. There is a better place, a promised future.
3. The way to this promised future is through the wilderness — there is no way
to get there except by joining together and marching.

THE TEN PLAGUES

We recite the ten plagues before our seder feast. We remember and mourn that our
freedom was won through the suffering of others.

Midrash teaches that, while watching the Egyptians succumb to the ten plagues,
the angels broke into songs of jubilation. God rebuked them, saying “My creatures
are perishing, and you sing praises?”

Before we drink to our liberation, we mark how the suffering diminishes our joy.
As we recite each plague, we spill a drop of wine—a symbol of joy—from our
cups.

We read together, spilling a drop of wine for each:

Blood – Dam
Frogs – Tzfarde’ah
Lice – Kinim
Wild beasts – Arov
Blight upon cattle – Dever
Boils – Sh’chin
Hail – Barad
Locusts – Arbeh
Darkness – Choshech
Death of the first born – Makat B’chorot
Shekhinah, soften our hearts and the hearts of our enemies. Help us to dream new
paths to freedom, so that the next sea-opening is not also a drowning; so that our
singing is never again their wailing. So that our freedom leaves no one orphaned,
childless, gasping for air.

Tonight we have acknowledged our ancestors. We vow that we will not allow their
stories, their experiences, their wisdom to fade. These are our legacy, which we
will study and teach to our friends and children. The task of liberation is long, and
it is work we ourselves must do.

As it is written in Pirke Avot, a collection of rabbinic wisdom: “It is not incumbent

upon us to finish the task, but neither may we refrain from beginning it.”

ENOUGH – DAYENU
What does this mean "Dayenu - it would have been enough?” Surely no one of
these would indeed have been enough for us. Dayenu means to celebrate each step
toward freedom as if it were enough, then to start out on the next step. It means
that if we reject each step because it is not the whole liberation, we will never be
able to achieve the whole liberation. It means to sing each verse as if it were the
whole song—and then sing the next verse.

Had God:
Brought us out of Egypt and not divided the sea for us—Dayenu
Divided the sea and not permitted us to cross on dry land—Dayenu
Permitted us to cross on dry land and not sustained us for forty years in the desert
—Dayenu
Sustained us for forty years in the desert and not fed us with manna—Dayenu
Fed us with manna and not given us the Sabbath—Dayenu
Given us the Sabbath and not brought us to Mount Sinai—Dayenu
Brought us to Mount Sinai and not given us the Torah—Dayenu
For all these, alone and together, we say—Dayenu

SECOND CUP OF WINE

The second cup of wine represents God’s second declaration of redemption:
“I will free you from slavery.”

All say the blessing: Blessed are you, Adonai, the Eternal, determiner of the
universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.
Baruch atah Adonai,
eloheinu ruach ha’olam,
borei p’ri hagafen.

SIGNS & SYMBOLS

Rabbi Gamaliel has said: one who has not explained the symbols on the seder table
has not fulfilled their duty. We have already referred to the green vegetable and
salt water.

MATZAH
Why do we eat matzah? Because during the Exodus, our ancestors had no time to
wait for dough to rise. So they improvised flat cakes without yeast, which could be
baked and consumed in haste. The matzah reminds us that when the chance for
liberation comes, we must seize it even if we do not feel ready—indeed, if we wait
until we feel fully ready, we may never act at all.

All say the blessing: Blessed are you, Adonai, who brings forth bread from the
earth. Blessed are you, Adonai, who sanctifies us with the commandment to eat
matzah.

Baruch atah Adonai

eloheinu melech ha’olam
hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz
Baruch atah Adonai
eloheinu melech ha’olam
asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav
v’tzivanu al achilat matzah.

Everyone eats a piece of matzah.

The Egg symbolizes creative power, our rebirth, and the spring.

The Shankbone represents the sacrifices we have made to survive. Before the
tenth plague, our people slaughtered lambs and marked our doors with blood:
because of this marking, the Angel of Death passed over our homes and our
firstborn were spared. Pesach, the name of tonight’s festival, means “passed-over.”

The Maror or Bitter Herb represents the bitterness of enslavement and

oppression.
All say the blessing: Blessed are you, Adonai, who sanctifies us with the
commandment to eat the bitter herb.

Baruch atah Adonai,

eloheinu melech ha’olam
asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav
v’tzivanu al achilat maror.

Everyone eats some bitter herb on matzah.

The Charoset, a mixture of apples and nuts and wine, represents the bricks and
mortar we made in ancient times, and the new structures we are beginning to build
in our lives today.

Everyone eats some charoset on matzah.

HILLEL SANDWICH
When the Temple still stood, the sage Hillel originated the tradition of eating
matzah and maror together, combining the bread of liberation with a remembrance
of the bitterness of slavery. In following his example, we create a physical
representation of the holiday’s central conflict.

Everyone eats a Hillel Sandwich: maror between two pieces of matzah.

THE ORANGE
Many believe the orange on the seder plate comes from an urban legend that goes
like this: a woman asked her Rabbi, “Rabbi, when would it be appropriate for a
woman to lead the Passover seder?” The Rabbi laughed and scoffed “A woman can
lead the seder when there is an orange on the seder plate!” insinuating that a
woman has no more right to be teaching Judaism than an orange, a symbol
unconnected to the story of Passover, has a right to be on the seder plate.

This story isn’t true. The orange actually comes from Susannah Heschel, professor
of Jewish Studies at Dartmouth, who added the orange to the seder plate in
recognition of those who are marginalized in the Jewish community, including
queer and trans Jews. She refutes this story and asks us to think about what it
means that the most popular understanding of the orange attributes its origin to a
man and erases queerness and transness from the picture entirely.
An amalgamation of both its true history and legend, the orange now sits on the
seder plates in many Passover seders, sometimes to denote that a woman is doing
the important work of leading the seder. Other times, the orange represents
transformation, feminism, queerness and transness, subversion, and the
experiences of Jewish people who have been marginalized by tradition. The orange
tells us it’s okay to change our traditions and rituals to be more liberatory and to fit
our spiritual needs of today. Its interpretation is always expanding.

The juicy sweetness of the orange is meant to remind us of the vibrancy of the
Jewish community, while the segments stick together as part of a whole but are
also capable of standing alone. The seeds, which represent intolerance and hate, are
bitter and are spit out in repudiation.

THE OLIVE
The olive on our seder plate is for solidarity with and freedom for Palestine. The
olive tree is a universal and ancient symbol of hope and peace. The destruction of
Palestinian olive trees by Israeli settlers and the Israeli army is just one example of
the way that the state of Israel systematically denies Palestinians of their rights,
their sovereignty, their livelihoods, and their land.

There is great irony and injustice in celebrating Jewish freedom and (in the words
of a Zionist seder) the Jewish people’s “deliverance into the land of Israel” while
Palestine remains occupied. Let the olive on our seder plate remind us to renew our
commitment to liberation, from where we stand on Turtle Island to Palestine, and
to refuse to allow our Jewish rituals to uphold Israeli settler colonialism.

This olive on our Seder plate reminds us to ask ourselves, as Rabbi Brant Rosen of
Jewish Voices for Peace says: “How will we, as Jews, bear witness to the unjust
actions committed in our name? Will these olives inspire us to be bearers of peace
and hope for Palestinians — and for all who are oppressed?”

All say the blessing:

Blessed are you Adonai who releases prisoners
Divides seas and breaches barriers:
Sound a big shofar for our liberty
And carry out a miracle to gather in our exile
And gather us in quickly from the four corners of the earth to the land
Return them to the land Adonai: they will return
Blessed are they: in their expulsion and in their return
Cry freedom: let judgement roll like a wave upon Jerusalem and justice like a
mighty stream to Gaza

Everyone eats an olive.

NEXT YEAR IN JARUSALEM? FUCK NO!

It is traditional to end a seder with L’shanah ha-ba’ah b’Yerushalayim— Next
Year in Jerusalem. It is intended to be a call towards freedom in the coming year,
with Jerusalem meaning either city of wholeness (Ir Shalem) or city of peace (Ir
Shalom). We think about the irony and perversion of these words as the capital of a
violent apartheid state. To anti-Zionist Jews, saying “Next year in Jerusalem”
represents the grip that the state of Israel has on all of our Jewish rituals and
celebrations, even our most liberatory, and the work that Zionists do to naturalize
Jewish claims to Palestine.

Tonight, we reject the state of Israel, and we remove it from our gathering and
denounce it in our prayers – as while the state of Israel exists, liberation and safety
for Palestine and for Palestinian people cannot happen.

Instead, we end with the sentiment of the words, from before Yerushalayim was
co-opted by the state of Israel. May we achieve wholeness and be at peace in the
coming year. May we resist oppression and violence in all of its forms. May we
fight for and achieve our collective liberation at last.

We say together: Now we are separate; next year may we be together. Now we
are oppressed; next year may we be free.

L’shanah ha-ba’ah b’Yerushalayim.