The Plagues | Passover haggadah by Serena Jake

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Jake Brasch is a playwright + lyricist + composer + pianist + performer + clown + baker and a Brooklyn-based fancy-free queer sober Jew from Colorado.

Each year we take a moment to acknowledge the plagues that the Holy One brought upon the Egyptians in her quest to free the Jewish slaves.

We regret that the Egyptians had to suffer so greatly before allowing the Jews to leave. We don’t wish suffering on anyone. We mourn the fact that it took the Egyptians so long to get the message.

What message is the spirit eternal trying to share with us now? Is she sharing a message? Or perhaps several messages? Are her messages conflicting? Are we getting the message? Should we be trying to get the message? Should we be sharing what we believe the message is?

This year, as we consider each of the plagues, we look at them a little differently. We ask ourselves what it would have been like to live through them. We question whether or not we would get the message if we were in the Egyptians’ shoes.

***

Blood | dam | דָּם

(We dip)

A mother bathes her daughter. The river turns to blood. She pulls her daughter out of the river. She checks for wounds. The baby cries. She looks for the dead animal that is poisoning the river. She can’t find it. She runs home.

Frogs | tzfardeiya | צְפַרְדֵּֽעַ

(We dip)

A cobbler sees a frog making its way into his workshop. He loves frogs. Many others are grossed out by frogs. He’s not. When three more frogs arrive, he smiles. He hears a sea of ribbets. He goes outside. He laughs. The gods sure do have a strange sense of humor. He dances with the frogs.

Lice | kinim | כִּנִּים

(We dip)

A small boy is very itchy. He cannot figure out why. He wants to bathe. The river is still blood. Ugh. He tries to figure out what is happening, but he can’t think straight. The frogs are loud. He’s so itchy. He runs. He runs. He runs.

Beasts | arov | עָרוֹב

(We dip)

An elder is losing her marbles. She must be. For there is a mirage in the distance. She sees zebras, elephants, wombats, crows, crocodiles, all dancing in the meadow. They are approaching. They are not playing. They are fierce. She tries to pinpoint the moment she lost her mind. The itchiness? The blood in the water? Did something happen before that? Or was this gradual? Did she just never notice? She saw it happen to her own mother. A painful decline. She doesn’t want this for herself. She closes her eyes.

Cattle disease | dever | דֶּֽבֶר

(We dip)

A farmer is not happy. He successfully kept his cattle safe from all of those tigers that showed up yesterday and for what? For his cows to just start randomly dropping dead? One at a time, they’ve just been crapping out. He’s fed ‘em. He’s done everything right. He sits down. He throws away his hat. He gives up.

Boils | sh’chin | שְׁחִין

(We dip)

A small child stares at her arm. She loves the little red spots. Yes, they hurt, but no more than where she was bit on the thigh by a wombat. No more than her gut hurts from all the blood she drank from the river. The spots are forming little constellations on her arm. She wishes she could be someone else.

Hail | barad | בָּרָד

(We dip)

The Pharaoh is, like, super freaked out. The last few days have been weird. He looks for answers in the sky. He begins being pelted by little cold spheres. He laughs. He can’t help himself. This is just so weird! He knows he must take this all seriously. He knows he should feel scared. But he laughs. It’s too ridiculous. He just laughs.

Locusts | arbeh | אַרְבֶּה

(We dip)

The starving family holds each other for warmth. They are terrified. They haven’t gone outside for days. A bug flies inside. A child catches it. She eats it. Several more bugs fly in Eureka. It’s a feast. It’s a miracle.

Darkness | choshech | חֹֽשֶׁךְ

(We dip)

Convinced that the world is about to end, a young couple decide to venture out to watch one last sunrise. It never comes.

Death of the Firstborn | makat b’chorot | מַכַּת בְּכוֹרוֹת

(We dip)

Our mother has kept her daughter inside ever since the bloody river incident. Her lover tells her about everything that’s been going on. It sounds really scary. Really scary. But she feels safe. She kisses her baby goodnight. She falls asleep. She dreams that she’s able to go back outside. That she’s able to smile. That she’s pregnant again. Another child. Another girl. She awakes in the morning to a scream from a nearby house. She gets up. She rushes to the crib.

***

Only in retrospect do we see G-d's plan. We see the lesson only in the rearview mirror. Curses become blessings and blessings become curses. We are always in process. Our stories never end.

May we remember all of the uncertainty we have felt as a people. May we remember the pain. May we question our certainty. May we leave open the possibility that anything can happen, that tomorrow zebras may come marching into town or that the ocean will be turned to molasses. Stranger things have happened. And may we remember the deliverance, the pleasure, the warmth, the hugs, the little things that matter as we trudge through the endless unknown, the desert, on our way home.

haggadah Section: -- Ten Plagues

Source: Jake Brasch