Traditionally, we open the door for Elijah, and we pour him a cup of wine.

In reading about Hallel I found writing that says the prophet Elijah visits the circimcision of every child and testifies that the family is following God's law, so we open the door for him on Passover so he can check that we are indeed circumcised and able to eat from the paschal lamb. If someone comes through that door and asks to check if you're circumcised, please, politely decline.

As a child I was told nothing of Elijah's relationship to male anatomy, but merely that he was a herald of the messiah, and that when he came we would finally see that promised land Jews love to talk about.

This year, with so many forced apart for the sake of safety, Elijah is your friends down the street, or your family across the country, or whoever you wish could walk through that door right now and take you in their arms. Elijah is the end of the death and the illness and the grief; a world where we can laugh and touch again, where close talkers can spit lightly onto your face and attentive friends can dab an eyelash off of your cheek. Elijah is the end to the aloneness. The hope. The promised land.

We pour a fourth cup of wine for ourselves, and a fifth cup for Elijah -- apparently he's going to sort out whether there should be four cups or five when he gets here)

Have a chat. Sing a song. Drink. The seder is almost over...


haggadah Section: Hallel
Source: Serena Berman