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Introduction
Contributed by Liam Davis

  • TOP HAGGADAHS FOR 2023

Here’s a game: If you were allowed to only keep one Jewish ritual, what would it be? It could be anything—fasting on Yom Kippur, refusing to intermarry, shatnez—but you have to choose only one. My answer, in case you haven’t already guessed, is the Passover Seder, which I’d argue gives you more bang for the buck than any tradition, of any religion: a long drama that rivals Game of Thrones, with babies floating on rivers, sticks turning into snakes, plagues, a knockout liberation scene, plus a formal Q&A session, a series of bizarre food items imbued with utterly ingenious symbolism, and more.

And yet, even with all this competition, Passover’s most inspired feature is still its meta-message: A group of people had a terrifying, transcendent experience together, and they built themselves into a cohesive religious and political entity by telling the story of that complex, painful, magical, problematic event over and over and over again. The point couldn’t be clearer: Narrative is vital to life—the engine of progress, both for individuals and for civilization.

But what if the narrative, or a part of it, makes you uncomfortable? There’s certainly no shortage of triggers in this one. What then?

A few years ago, I attended a Seder hosted by a friend who, in her fifties, married a man who isn’t Jewish. Suddenly she found herself about to preside over a dinner during which the death of non-Jews is celebrated and Jews declare themselves “chosen”—all in front of her now-beloved non-Jewish spouse and stepchildren. Her first inclination was to replace the Hagaddah she had used her whole life with a more anodyne one. But, as she explained to me while we set the table together that night, she soon realized that doing so would actually subvert the entire purpose of the Seder, which is to challenge and engage. If she did not believe in or could not support one or more of these things, she should take the opportunity explicitly encouraged by the Seder to say so.

For her, a commitment to the tradition and its text went hand in hand with overtly rejecting parts of it, and doing so in front of her new family members made it even more memorable. “It’s not like we Jews have kept the whole chosen idea a secret,” she said, wryly. “I think it was meaningful for my stepdaughter to hear it explained in historical context, and also frankly a relief to hear me say that I personally didn’t believe it.”

It’s worth noting here that there’s no dictate against adding anything to the Seder; in fact, it’s the whole point: talk, talk, question, question, talk. Do you hate the idea that innocent Egyptians had to be killed in order for Jews to be liberated? Say so. Disgusted by the commandment to “blunt the teeth” of a young boy for the crime of phrasing a question in legitimately skeptical terms? Rant away!

What you mustn’t do, though, is airbrush or censor or rewrite out of history the parts that make you squirm, or worse. This is an anxiety disorder. Though pandemic these days in American society, it has long afflicted this country’s Jews, whose solution to discomfort has often been humor. But at some point you simply must engage with the ideas of dead babies, slavery, faith, and the excruciating choice between subservient survival and precarious autonomy. This year, when we are instructed to feel “as though you yourself came out of Egypt,” do just that: Feel the feelings inherent in this whole story, inside of the context of your life, and this unsettling moment in history. Feel betrayal, feel threat, feel terror, feel burdened. But also feel the relief that comes from choosing to not be alone in the world—and the promise that comes with believing in something.
haggadah Section: Introduction
Source: Maya Katz

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