Whether this is the first or fiftieth seder you’ve attended, reassessing the themes of the seder challenges each of us to connect to the traditions on a personal, individual level. Here are a few recurring themes that arise in the story of Passover:

1. Redemption: In the Exodus story, the Jews were redeemed physically from slavery as well as spiritually and mentally.

2. Creation: Passover is known by several names in Hebrew, including Chag HaAviv, holiday of the spring. Pesach celebrates spring, rebirth, and renewal, symbolized by the green “ karpas ” and the egg on the seder plate. It is also a time of “beginning,” as exemplified by the first grain harvest and the birth of Israel as a nation. Also, Nissan, this Hebrew month, was traditionally seen as the first month of the Jewish year. Editor's Note: Nissan is also Nelson's Hebrew name & let us acknowledge the humor here given that (a) he is not the first Kier son, (b) wasn't born at this time of year, and (c) has never owned a Nissan. But the word Nissan also means "Miracles" and so this editor thinks it a very apt name for Nelson :)

3. Education: Four different times in the Torah, the Jews are commanded to repeat the story of the Passover.The seder is centered around teaching the story of the exodus from Egypt-- and infact, Haggadah means “the telling.” Two of our most important readings address education head on: the four questions and the four sons. Even at a seder like tonight without children present, the night takes on an educational feel. Let it be noted that thought-provoking inquiry and supportive debate are encouraged, though volume escalation and aggressive debate are not!

4. Patterns of Four: Throughout the seder, you may notice the number four being repeated in many guises. Among other patterns of four at the seder, we drink four cups of wine, ask four questions, and speak about four types of children.

Additional Themes: Traveling Light, Carbohydrates, & Bitterness!

The four cups of wine are linked to the four promises God made to the children of Israel: "I will bring you out from under the burdens of Egypt. I will deliver you from bondage. I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and great judgements. I will take you to be my people and I will be your God " (Exodus 6: 6-7).

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא פְּרִי הַגָּפֶן

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, borei p’ree hagafen.

Let us bless the Source of Life that ripens the fruit on the vine.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם,
שֶׁהֶחֱיָנוּ וְקִיְּמָנוּ וְהִגִּיעָנוּ לַזְּמַן הַזֶּה

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam,
she-hechiyanu v’key’manu v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.

Let us bless the Source of Life that has kept us alive, raised us up, and brought us to this happy moment.

{Drink the first glass of wine!}

Tonight we dedicate the four cups of wine to inspirational women in our lives, who have worked towards redemption and freedom in their own ways. Please take a minute to think about who you would like to dedicate the first cup to & feel free to call out and share these important women!

We now take the parsley, representing our joy at the dawning of spring after our long, cold winter, and dip it into salt water, a symbol of the tears our ancestors shed as slaves. Before we eat it, we recite a short blessing:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא פְּרִי הָאֲדָמָה

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, borei p’ree ha-adama.

We praise God, Source of Life, who creates the fruits of the earth.

We look forward to spring -- to baseball and the reawakening of flowers and greenery. These things haven’t been lost, just buried beneath the snow, getting ready for reappearance just when we most needed them.

As a plant bursts forth with new energy to bloom, so too we recognize that at this time of Jewish history we are blossoming in different ways. As the garden needs tending, so, too, do our relationships with spouses, in-laws and families of other traditions. Weeding out all that is not necessary and loving, we make room for fresh insight and respect. We welcome those who sit around this table for the first time or the twentieth, bringing new ideas and insights to our discussion.

The Pesach story begins in a broken world, amidst slavery and oppression. The sound of the breaking of the matza sends us into that fractured existence, only to become whole again when we find the broken half, the afikoman, at the end of the Seder.

This brokenness is not just a physical or political situation: It reminds us of all those hard, damaged places within ourselves. All those narrow places from which we want to break to free. In Hebrew, Egypt is called  Mitzrayim, reminding us of the word  tzar, narrow. Mitzrayim symbolizes the inner straits that trap our souls. Yet even here we can find a unique lesson, as Mishael Zion & Noam Zion of the Haggadah of Contemporary Voices  share that these ideas of brokenness teach us that: "There is nothing more whole – than a broken heart."

Now everyone please take a whole piece of matza, and as you break it, take a moment to ponder how our world is broken.

APRIL 14, 2011

Shouts & Murmurs: Four Questions—Extended Version

BY MARIKA SAWYER, SIMON RICH, AND JOHN MULANEY

YOUNGEST CHILD: How is this night different from all other nights? FATHER: Because on this night we tell the story of our escape from Egypt.

YOUNGEST CHILD: How is this night different from Easter? FATHER: It is worse.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Why do we go through the motions of this ritual year after year, even though all of us doubt God’s existence? FATHER: Because your grandmother is still alive.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Why on this night does the mother-in-law say that the brisket her son’s wife cooked is dry when it is fine? FATHER: Because she resents the fact that she cannot legally marry her son, the doctor.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Why on this night do we leave this chair open? FATHER: It is for the holy angel Elijah, should he bless us with a visit.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Why is this other chair open? FATHER: That’s where your grandfather was sitting. He’s been in the bathroom for over ninety minutes. He’s either having some troubles, or he is engrossed in that book of Doonesbury cartoons.

YOUNGEST CHILD: How long has that book been in there? FATHER: Since the time of Egypt.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Why, if Israel is so great, have we never gone there? FATHER: It is not great. We are scared to go there.

OLDEST DAUGHTER: My friends say that I look Italian. Is that true? FATHER: It is not true. You friends are either liars or so Jewish-looking that you look less Jewish by comparison.

OLDEST DAUGHTER: When can I get a nose job? FATHER: Ninety days before college. That is how long it takes for the bandages to come off.

FATHER: Has everyone here seen “Blazing Saddles”? ALL: Yes, we have seen it.

FATHER: Do you remember the beans scene? That is the greatest scene. ALL: Yes, we remember it.

FATHER: Does it get any better than Billy Joel? ALL: No.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Why do we subscribe to the Forward ? FATHER: We do not subscribe. They found us.

YOUNGEST CHILD: Can we please just eat already? FATHER: Yes. ALL: Amen.

As we learned earlier, Passover is a great reminder of the fact that in Judaism we're always encouraged to ask questions and inquire why. This deep intellectual curiosity manifests itself throughout the retelling of the History of the Jews and certainly in the Kier Family.

The Wicked Son Is Actually the Best One!

The villain of the Passover Seder has been falsely maligned.

By Miriam Krule

I’ve been to many Seders in my nearly three decades. There was the one where our hosts had us march around the block with sacks of matzo singing “Avadim Hayinu,” (“We Were Slaves”)—they were going for Exodus verisimilitude. There was the one where the four questions were recited in more than 10 languages—concluding with my septuagenarian uncle’s rendition in a perfect and crisp Ladino. But while each family brings its own traditions and spin to the meal, there’s one constant: No one wants to get stuck reading the passage about the wicked son.

There are many fours in the Haggadah—four glasses of wine, four questions, four sons, four words of redemption—and much of the Seder is spent discussing them. In fact, the entire Seder is really one big lesson, with the Haggadah serving as its textbook, a way for one generation to teach the next about the Exodus from Egypt. Early on, after the children ask the four questions, we read of four sons referred to in the Bible (though not by name): the smart one, the wicked one, the simple one, and the one who doesn’t even know how to ask. The Haggadah presents these four figures as a way to kick off a discussion of the Passover story.

The smart son asks what laws God commanded us to obey, and the parent is instructed to answer by explaining the laws of Passover. (This has always struck me as a pretty lousy question: Do your own research, smart son!) The simple son simply asks, What is this? —that is, what are we doing here at this Seder? Not a bad question, given the peculiarities of the Seder meal. As for the son who doesn’t even realize he should be asking questions, or doesn’t know how to ask, the tradition is to initiate the conversation for him by telling him the story of Exodus.

The wicked son’s question sounds less evil to me than sensible.

This leaves the wicked son, who asks, What are all these things to you? The Haggadah brands this question as evil because the son separates himself from the group, by asking what the observance of Passover means to you. The question is interpreted as a rhetorical one, an affront to the entire notion of holding a Seder and, by extension, practicing Judaism. As such, the prescribed response is pretty abrasive: The wicked son is told that had he been in Egypt he wouldn’t have been redeemed, and participants are instructed to “blunt his teeth,” a funny translation of a Hebrew idiom that has always felt a bit more violent than necessary, especially for a question that strikes me as thoughtful and important.

Somewhere in my late teens or early 20s I realized that despite my aspirations to be the smart one, I had more in common with the wicked son. It’s not that I reject Jewish practice or belief. I just don’t think his question is wicked, even if the authors of the Haggadah clearly intended it to be.

I prefer to refer to the wicked son as the challenging child, a more alliterative, gender-neutral, and helpful way of looking at this character. As for her question, it sounds less evil to me than sensible. The idea of searching for meaning in practices, and understanding their motivations, is a natural one. Challenging the reasons behind tradition, and the logic underlying the holiday’s restrictions, can only lead to greater understanding and more honest practice. Whereas the smart son merely asks for, and receives, the law, the wicked son asks for the reasoning underlying those laws.

While there’s no denying that tradition and laws are the backbone of religion and society, both religion and society need challengers if there is to be any progress. Often, such a challenger is branded, at first, as evil, only later to be recognized as a visionary—think of Sarah Schenirer, or Isaac Newton. The questions posed by the challenging child are not a rejection of practice, as I interpret them. They’re a way of giving meaning to action. They’re not an attempt to stand apart from the group—they’re an attempt to understand what, exactly, the group stands for. To dismiss the question is to suggest that Judaism is a faith that doesn’t permit skepticism—a position I think most Jews would reject.

This may seem like a trivial rereading of an often rushed-through bit of the Haggadah, but there’s more at stake here. There are questioners in Judaism today who are asking the hard questions and being ostracized as a result. Take the recent discussion about women laying tefillin . Like the wicked son, these women have taken seats at the table. They want to be part of the conversation. But their questions are only met with shouts of “enemy.” The child isn’t the problem, it’s our response that is.

​The Plagues are thought to have happened around the same time as a massive volcano eruption (1400-1650BC). The volcano Santorini sent ash in to the air effecting the surrounding area, including the Nile River.  

1st Plague. River ran red LIKE blood. But there is a common algae plume called the Red Tide (or Oscillatoria Rubescens ). This makes the river, or any water, look red like blood. Why did this happen? The ash changes the PH level of the river allowing the algae to bloom.

2nd Plague. Frogs. The algae is killing fish. So that means we had fewer fish, and yet a record number of frogs. The frogs couldn't live in polluted water and so they left the river.

3rd and 4th Plagues. Lice and flies. So the insect plagues may have been a result of the river full of dead fish (and dead frogs). 

5th and Plagues. Pestilence and boils may have been brought on by the insect bites that could have gotten infected.

7th Plague. Fire and Hail. Ash in the air causes a mixture of ash and water. The ash, very high in the air, can cause the water to freeze so when it falls it is hail and not rain. Red lightning (known as sprites) can sometimes come from chemicals in the ash. The red color is produced from the excitation of the gas molecules in the atmosphere, particularly nitrogen.

8th Plague. Locusts. Locusts come about when the ground is very damp and they bury their eggs in the sand about 4-6 inches. After record amounts of hail the ground could be very wet allowing the locusts to form.

9th Plague. After an eruption, the ash in the air can remain for a while causing darkness. 

10th Plague. Death of First born. In Egypt the first born was king. When food was scarce the first born was fed first and sometimes was the only one to eat. After locusts ate every thing there was only grain locked in vaults. The hail got it wet and made it moldy. And so when only the first born ate, they were the only ones killed by moldy grain. 

As we rejoice at our deliverance from slavery, we acknowledge that our freedom was hard-earned. We regret that our freedom came at the cost of the Egyptians’ suffering, for we are all human beings made in the image of God. We pour out a drop of wine for each of the plagues as we recite them.

Dip a finger or a spoon into your wine glass for a drop for each plague.

These are the ten plagues which God brought down on the Egyptians:

Blood | dam | דָּם

Frogs | tzfardeiya |  צְפַרְדֵּֽעַ

Lice | kinim | כִּנִּים

Beasts | arov | עָרוֹב

Cattle disease | dever | דֶּֽבֶר

Boils | sh’chin | שְׁחִין

Hail | barad | בָּרָד

Locusts | arbeh | אַרְבֶּה

Darkness | choshech | חֹֽשֶׁךְ

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

The Egyptians needed ten plagues because after each one they were able to come up with excuses and explanations rather than change their behavior. Could we be making the same mistakes? Make up your own list. What are the plagues in your life? What are the plagues in our world today? What behaviors do we need to change to fix them? 

Ilu ho-tsi, ho-tsi-a-nu,
Ho-tsi-a-nu mi-Mitz-ra-yim,
Ho-tsi-a-nu mi-Mitz-ra-yim,
Da-ye-nu!

.. CHORUS:
.. Dai, da-ye-nu,
.. Dai, da-ye-nu,
.. Dai, da-ye-nu,
.. Da-ye-nu, da-ye-nu, da-ye-nu!
..
.. Dai, da-ye-nu,
.. Dai, da-ye-nu,
.. Dai, da-ye-nu,
.. Da-ye-nu, da-ye-nu!

Ilu na-tan, na-tan la-nu,
Na-tan la-nu et-ha-Sha-bat,
Na-tan la-nu et-ha-Sha-bat,
Da-ye-nu!

.. (CHORUS)

Ilu na-tan, na-tan la-nu,
Na-tan la-nu et-ha-To-rah,
Na-tan la-nu et-ha-To-rah,
Da-ye-nu!

.. (CHORUS)

"Had god but split the sea, and not passed us through it on dry land - it would have been enough."

How could it have been enough? Had Israel not escaped through the Red Sea, they would have been slaughtered by the Egyptians!

The point of the poem is to express gratitude for every facet of God's miraculous deliverance. There is a sense that the Exodus, which reached its fulfillment in the entry into the Land and the building of the Temple (a process of over 400 years!) unfolded in many steps, each constituting a miracle in itself. The poet feels the living power of each gesture of divine favor, irrespective of the total result. Had You only done this and no more - it would have been enough for me to feel Your divine love.

The principle of "dayeinu," of giving thanks even for the partial and incomplete, is crucial for living in this uncertain world in which few dreams ever come to full fruition. We thank God every day for the miracle of being alive. In learning gratitude to God we also learn to show gratitude to parents, teachers, loved ones and friends, even when their efforts fall short on completeness. 

Excerpt from The NYTimes, "Choose to Be Grateful. It Will Make You Happier"  (November 2015)

By Arthur Brooks

...For many people, gratitude is difficult, because life is difficult. Even beyond deprivation and depression, there are many ordinary circumstances in which gratitude doesn’t come easily...

...Beyond rotten circumstances, some people are just naturally more grateful than others. A 2014 article in the journal Social Cognitive and Affective Neuroscience identified a variation in a gene (CD38) associated with gratitude. Some people simply have a heightened genetic tendency to experience, in the researchers’ words, “global relationship satisfaction, perceived partner responsiveness and positive emotions (particularly love).” That is, those relentlessly positive people you know who seem grateful all the time may simply be mutants.

But we are more than slaves to our feelings, circumstances and genes. Evidence suggests that we can actively choose to practice gratitude — and that doing so raises our happiness.

This is not just self-improvement hokum. For example, researchers in one 2003 study randomly assigned one group of study participants to keep a short weekly list of the things they were grateful for, while other groups listed hassles or neutral events. Ten weeks later, the first group enjoyed significantly greater life satisfaction than the others. Other studies have shown the same pattern and lead to the same conclusion...

...How does all this work? One explanation is that acting happy, regardless of feelings, coaxes one’s brain into processing positive emotions. In one famous 1993 experiment, researchers asked human subjects to smile forcibly for 20 seconds while tensing facial muscles, notably the muscles around the eyes called the  orbicularis oculi  (which create “crow’s feet”). They found that this action stimulated brain activity associated with positive emotions.

If grinning for an uncomfortably long time like a scary lunatic isn’t your cup of tea, try expressing gratitude instead. According to research published in the journal Cerebral Cortex, gratitude stimulates the hypothalamus (a key part of the brain that regulates stress) and the ventral tegmental area (part of our “reward circuitry” that produces the sensation of pleasure).

It’s science, but also common sense: Choosing to focus on good things makes you feel better than focusing on bad things. As my teenage kids would say, “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” In the slightly more elegant language of the Stoic philosopher Epictetus, “He is a man of sense who does not grieve for what he has not, but rejoices in what he has.”

The familiar hamotzi blessing marks the formal start of the meal. Because we are using matzah instead of bread, we add a blessing celebrating this mitzvah of the motzi matzah (now say that 10 times fast!)

בְָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ מֶֽלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, הַמּוֹצִיא לֶֽחֶם מִן הָאָֽרֶץ:

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz.

We praise God, Source of Life, who brings bread from the land.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ מֶֽלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָֽׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתַָיו וְצִוָּֽנוּ עַל אֲכִילַת מַצָּה:

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al achilat matzah.

In creating a holiday about the joy of freedom, we turn the story of our bitter history into a sweet celebration. We recognize this by dipping our bitter herbs into the sweet charoset | maror  |מָרוֹר.

ברוּךְ אַתָּה יְיַָ אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ מֶֽלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָֽׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּֽנוּ עַל אֲכִילַת מרוֹר:

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al achilat maror.

We praise God, Source of Life, who made us holy through obligations, commanding us to eat bitter herbs.

Let us think of those in the world who aren't yet free as we taste the bitter maror and let the sweet taste of freedom empower us to act against injustice.

I speak to you as an American Jew.

As Americans we share the profound concern of millions of people about the shame and disgrace of inequality and injustice which make a mockery of the great American idea.

As Jews we bring to this great demonstration, in which thousands of us proudly participate, a two-fold experience -- one of the spirit and one of our history.

In the realm of the spirit, our fathers taught us thousands of years ago that when God created man, he created him as everybody's neighbor. Neighbor is not a geographic term. It is a moral concept. It means our collective responsibility for the preservation of man's dignity and integrity.

From our Jewish historic experience of three and a half thousand years we say:

Our ancient history began with slavery and the yearning for freedom. During the Middle Ages my people lived for a thousand years in the ghettos of Europe . Our modern history begins with a proclamation of emancipation.

It is for these reasons that it is not merely sympathy and compassion for the black people ofAmerica that motivates us. It is above all and beyond all such sympathies and emotions a sense of complete identification and solidarity born of our own painful historic experience.

When I was the rabbi of the Jewish community in Berlin under the Hitler regime, I learned many things. The most important thing that I learned under those tragic circumstances was that bigotry and hatred are not '.the most urgent problem. The most urgent, the most disgraceful, the most shameful and the most tragic problem is silence.

A great people which had created a great civilization had become a nation of silent onlookers. They remained silent in the face of hate, in the face of brutality and in the face of mass murder.

America must not become a nation of onlookers. America must not remain silent. Not merely black America , but all of America . It must speak up and act,. from the President down to the humblest of us, and not for the sake of the Negro, not for the sake of the black community but for the sake of the image, the idea and the aspiration of America itself.

Our children, yours and mine in every school across the land, each morning pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States and to the republic for which it stands. They, the children, speak fervently and innocently of this land as the land of "liberty and justice for all."

The time, I believe, has come to work together - for it is not enough to hope together, and it is not enough to pray together, to work together that this children's oath, pronounced every morning from Maine to California, from North to South, may become. a glorious, unshakeable reality in a morally renewed and united America.

It's almost time to eat! Before we chow down, let's fill that third glass of wine and say grace, giving thanks for the meal we're about to consume. 

On Passover, this becomes something like an extended toast to the forces that brought us together:

We praise the force of goodness sustains the world, of love and compassion, of bread for all.

Now, LET'S EAT!

It's time to find the afikoman and tzafunnest part of the night! Go get it.

By placing a cup of wine on the seder table and opening the door after our meal, we recognize the legend that the prophet Elijah visits every seder table to announce the coming of redemption. The cup of Elijah is a hope that the world, now broken, will one day be healed. By contrast to Elijah who lived as a hermit, Miriam lived among the Hebrew people as a healer and a source of inspiration.

Legend says that fresh water miraculously followed Miriam as theHebrews traveled through the desert, providing them with sustenance. God gave this gift to Miriam, the prophetess, to honor her bravery and devotion to the Jewish people.Where Elijah represents the movement of time towards redemption, Miriam represents ongoing healing and renewal. If Elijah is the mountain, Miriam is the Sea. Let us open the door for Elijah and sing:

Eliyahu Hanavi, Eliyahu hatishbi, Eliyahu, Eliyahu, Eliyahu hagiladi.

Bimheirah b'yamenu, yavo aylenu, Im Mashiach ben-David, Im Mashiach ben-David

Elijah the prophet, the returning man of Gilad: return to us speedily, in our days with the messiah, son of David.

We fill Miriam's cup with water to honor her role in ensuring the survival of the Jewish people. Like Miriam, Jewish women in all generations have been essential for the continuity of our people. As keepers of traditions in the home, women sustained their families and kept rituals and recipes alive in songs and stories from mother to daughter, from generation to generation.We place Miriam's cup on our Seder table to honor the important role of Jewish women in our tradition and history, whose stories have been too sparingly told. For Miriam we lift our water glasses and say:

Zot be'er Miriam kos mayim chayam.

This is the well of Miriam, the cup of living waters.

A Prayer for Refugees From Religious Action Center, March 2016 Eloheinu V’Elohei Avoteinu v’Imoteinu

Our God and God of our fathers and mothers, help those who flee persecution as our ancestors did some 3000 years ago. Show chesed (loving-kindness), compassion to those hemmed in by misery and captivity, to those who take to the open ocean, or treacherous landscape seeking freedom and liberty. Rescue and recover them - delivering them from gorge to meadow, from darkness to light. Inspire us to act on behalf of those we don’t know, on behalf of those we may never meet because we know the heart of the stranger. We too ate the bread of affliction whose taste still lingers. And so, dear God, inspire us to be rodfei tzedek, pursuers of righteousness for those who seek the same freedoms we enjoy tonight. Do it speedily and in our days, and let us all say, Amen.

- Rabbi Daniel Gropper, Community Synagogue of Rye, NY

One little goat, one little goat.

That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya....

Then came a cat that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya....

Then came a dog that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya..

Then came a stick and beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya..

Then came fire and burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya..

Then came water and quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya...

Then came the ox and drank the water, that quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya...

Then came the slaughterer and slaughtered the ox, that drank the water, that quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya....

Then came the Angel of Death and killed the slaughterer, that slaughtered the ox, that drank the water, that quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, 

Chad gadya...chad gadya....

Then came the Holy One, Blessed be He and slew the the Angel of Death, that killed the slaughterer, that slaughtered the ox, that drank the water, that quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim,

Chad gadya...chad gadya...