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TABLE OF CONTENTS
-James Baldwin
Baruch Atah Adonai, eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu lirdof tzedek
Brucha Yah Shechinah, eloheinu Malkat ha-olam, asher kid’shatnu b’mitzvotayha vitzivatnu lirdof tzedek
Blessed is the Source, who shows us paths to holiness, and commands us to pursue justice.
Calligraphy by: Ruben Shimonov
When we gathered over zoom in 5780/ 2020 with our families and communities, most people thought that it was an anomaloy; that by the next year Passover could be "normal" once again. While we are grateful for vaccines, it is clear that there is no "normal" to return to. Things remain altered; we are changed.
The pandemic reminds me of the Exodus narrative itself. The telling of the story at our seder usually ends as the Israelites cross the sea and begin wandering in the desert. To me, however, the wandering is everything. While the early taste of freedom is met with sweetness and song, the feeling didn't last. Some Israelites long to return to Egypt because even to live enslaved seems preferable sometimes than to live with uncertainty. The people often forget to be grateful for their freedom and kvetch (complain) about their conditions and situation. Moses, their leader, quickly learns he needs help to lead. He builds a team and with that team the people figure out how to be a people. It can't happen overnight. It takes many many years of wandering.
Here we are together -- online. We are not newly in this landscape, we have been wandering in it for a while. Like all who wander, we are not sure exactly where we're going or how we will get there. We feel uncertain. Like the Israelites, we may long to "go back" to how things used to be, even though, when we really think about it, things weren't all that great for many of us. It is hard to live with uncertainty. It can be hard to remember to stay grateful for the things that can bring us together -- digital technologies, creative programming, and more. Leaders are emerging during this time but the best among them are realizing that to lead is to make sure no one is left behind. We need a team. We need each other.
This new desert, this wandering, is our opportunity to come together as Jews and as thriving, vibrant, beautiful communities. I, for one, do not wish to "go back." Of course I am glad for a return to some pre-pandemic realities like being able to gather, to hug, to do some of the activities I miss. But there is no "going back," there is only forging ahead. Out of this desert wandering I long for a brighter future in which no one is left behind. I long for a future built on meaningful commitments to diversity and equity. I long for a future in which we work for a future by resolving to protect our planet. I long for a future in which our Jewish communities grow stronger by becoming more inclusive and celebratory of the ways in which our differences make us better, rather than letting difference divide us. Finally, I wish for us that however we make our way through this desert, we rememeber that we need each other and we act accordingly long into the future.
This has been a hard time but I remain hopeful and grateful. May we celebrate the freedoms we enjoy and may we resolve to keep fighting for greater freedom for all.
to the tune of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles
Oh yeah, I’ll tell you something It’s one of God’s commands
When you start the Seder You need to wash your hands
You need to wash your hands
You need to wash your hands
Oh my what a feeling
Before the paschal lamb
And yes it’s appealing I want to wash my hands
I want to wash my hands
I want to wash my hands
And we wash them when we say the Barchu
I pass the bowl around and say
On to you, on to you, on to you
Yeah, You got us praying To reach the Promised Land
Hear this we’re conveying
We want to wash our hands
We want to wash our hands
We want to wash our hands
©2013 David Vanca and Lizzy Pike
Super-kosher Manischewitz, Exodus and Moses The story of the Passover our Seder meal discloses Reminds us that the life of slaves was not a bed of roses Super-kosher Manischewitz, Exodus and Moses
Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ai Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ai
The Jews were bound in Egypt and were feeling rather low So Moses went to Pharaoh and said “Let my people go.” Pharoah said “Be gone with you,” which wasn’t very nice So God commenced a run of plagues including frogs and lice.
Oh, Super-kosher Manischewitz, Exodus and Moses The story of the Passover our Seder meal discloses We will eat gefilte fish, though some will hold their noses Super-kosher Manischewitz, Exodus and Moses
Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ai Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ai
The plagues were unrelenting and included hail and boils Not to mention dreadful fates for Egypt's boys and goils. Pharaoh he surrendered, then with slightly soggy feet The Jews walked to their freedom and that’s it, come on, let’s eat!
Oh, Super-kosher Manischewitz, Exodus and Moses The story of the Passover our Seder meal discloses Finish the Haggadah before anybody dozes Super-kosher Manischewitz, Exodus and Moses
PASSOVER
Tell me: how is this night different
From all other nights?
How, tell me, is this Passover
Different from other Passovers?
Light the lamp, open the door wide
So the pilgrim can come in,
Gentile or Jew;
Under the rags perhaps the prophet is concealed.
Let him enter and sit down with us;
Let him listen, drink, sing and celebrate Passover;
Let him consume the bread of affliction,
The Paschal Lamb, sweet mortar and bitter herbs.
This is the night of differences
In which you lean your elbow on the table,
Since the forbidden becomes prescribed,
Evil is translated into good.
We will spend the night recounting
Far-off events full of wonder,
And because of all the wine
The mountains will skip like rams.
Tonight they exchange questions:
The wise, the godless, the simple-minded and the child.
And time reverses its course,
Today flowing back into yesterday,
Like a river enclosed at its mouth.
Each of us has been a slave in Egypt,
Soaked straw and clay with sweat,
And crossed the sea dry-footed.
You too, stranger.
This year in fear and shame,
Next year in virtue and in justice.
The answers to the first three questions are drawn from Michelle Alexander’s groundbreaking book, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness (2010). Excerpts are cited with “NJC” and the page number.
Question #1
Why does America have the highest incarceration rate of any developed nation in the world?
Many factors have increased the incarceration rate, including the War on Drugs, the imposition of mandatory minimum sentencing, and privatization of prisons, which creates financial incentives for keeping people in prison.
“The impact of the drug war has been astounding. In less than thirty years, the U.S. penal population exploded from around 300,000 to more than 2 million, with drug convictions accounting for the majority of the increase. The United States now by far has the highest incarceration rate in the world.” (NJC, p. 6)
Incarceration is a tool of social control.
“[D]rug crime was declining, not rising, when a drug war was declared in 1972. From a historical perspective, however, the lack of correlation between crime and punishment is nothing new. Sociologists have frequently observed that governments use punishment primarily as a tool of social control, and thus the extent or severity of punishment is often unrelated to actual crime patterns.” (NJC, p. 7)
Question #2
Who is being locked up in the United States?
There is a strong racial dimension to the pattern of incarceration.
“No other country in the world imprisons so many of its racial or ethnic minorities. The United States imprisons a larger percentage of its black population than South Africa did at the height of apartheid. In Washington, D.C., our nation’s capitol, it is estimated that three out of four young black men (and nearly all those in the poorest neighborhoods) can expect to serve time in prison. Similar rates of incarceration can be found in black communities across America.
“These stark racial disparities cannot be explained by rates of drug crime. Studies show that people of all colors use and sell illegal drugs at remarkably similar rates . . . This is not what one would guess, however, when entering our nation’s prisons and jails, which are overflowing with black and brown drug offenders.” (NJC, p. 6)
The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. (Deuteronomy 26:6, Haggadah)
Two Personal Stories
Michelle Alexander describes two experiences of harsh treatment in the criminal justice system:
“Imagine you are Emma Faye Stewart, a thirty-year-old, single African-American mother of two who was arrested as part of a drug sweep in Hearne, Texas. All but one of those people arrested were African- American. You are innocent. After a week in jail, you have no one to care for your two small children and are eager to get home. Your court-appointed attorney urges you to plead guilty to a drug distribution charge, saying the prosecutor has offered probation. You refuse, steadfastly proclaiming your innocence. Finally, after almost a month in jail, you decide to plead guilty so you can return home to your children. Unwilling to risk a trial and years of imprisonment, you are sentenced to ten years probation and ordered to pay $1,000 in fines, as well as court and probation costs. You are also now branded a drug felon. You are no longer eligible for food stamps; you may be discriminated against in employment; you cannot vote for at least twelve years; and you are about to be evicted from public housing. Once homeless, your children will be taken away from you and put in foster care.
“A judge eventually dismisses all cases against the defendants who did not plead guilty. At trial, the judge finds that the entire sweep was based on the testimony of a single informant who lied to the prosecution. You, however, are still a drug felon, homeless, and desperate to regain custody of your children.
“Now place yourself in the shoes of Clifford Runoalds, another African-American victim of the Hearne drug bust. You returned home to Bryan, Texas, to attend the funeral of your eighteen-month-old daughter. Before the funeral services begin, the police show up and handcuff you. You beg the officers to let you take one last look at your daughter before she is buried. The police refuse. You are told by prosecutors that you are needed to testify against one of the defendants in a recent drug bust. You deny witnessing any drug transaction; you don’t know what they are talking about. Because of your refusal to cooperate, you are indicted on felony charges. After a month of being held in jail, the charges against you are dropped. You are technically free, but as a result of your arrest and period of incarceration, you lose your job, your apartment, your furniture, and your car. Not to mention the chance to say good-bye to your baby girl.” (NJC, pp. 97-98)
Question #3
Why are so many African Americans, as well as other people of color, being treated like criminals?
Mass incarceration is a tool to reinforce a racial caste system in the United States.
“Slavery defined what it meant to be black (a slave), and Jim Crow defined what it meant to be black (a second-class citizen). Today mass incarceration defines the meaning of blackness in America: black people, especially black men, are criminals. That is what it means to be black.
“The temptation is to insist that black men ‘choose’ to be criminals; the system does not make them criminals, at least not in the way that slavery made blacks slaves or Jim Crow made them second-class citizens. The myth of choice here is seductive, but it should be resisted. African Americans are not significantly more likely to use or sell prohibited drugs than whites, but they are made criminals at drastically higher rates for precisely the same conduct. In fact, studies suggest that white professionals may be the most likely of any group to have engaged in illegal drug activity in their lifetime, yet they are the least likely to be made criminals. . . . Black people have been made criminals by the War on Drugs to a degree that dwarfs its effect on other racial and ethnic groups, especially whites. And the process of making them criminals has produced racial stigma. (NJC, pp. 196-197)
Question #4
Why do we, as Jews and friends of Jews, ask these questions on this seder night?
We cried out to the Eternal One, the God of our ancestors, who heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. (Deuteronomy 26:7, Haggadah)
There are Jews of color who have personal stories to tell about experiencing racism; there are Jews of all colors who have personal stories to tell about incarceration and the criminal justice system. But the issue affects us all, whether or not we have personal stories to tell. As the people of the Exodus, we are called to witness the suffering of our neighbors, to open ours eyes and to cry out in the name of justice.
Then the Eternal One freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and signs and portents. (Deuteronomy 26:8, Haggadah)
Dismantling the system of mass incarceration and creating a system of justice and dignity for all Americans calls for wisdom, perseverance, hard work, and faith. We must raise our voices and build alliances. We pray for the ability to see clearly, to act with compassion, and to forgive ourselves for the ways we have unknowingly been agents of oppression. We pray for courage, guidance, and strength as we celebrate Passover, our festival of freedom.
We read together the words of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr, from his letter from a Birmingham, Alabama jail on April 16, 1963:
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”
Pack Nothing. Bring only your determination to serve and your willingness to be free.
Don’t wait for the bread to rise.
Take nourishment for the journey, but eat standing, be ready to move at a moment’s notice.
Do not hesitate to leave your old ways behind - fear, silence, submission.
Do not take time to explain to the neighbors.Tell only a few trusted friends and family members.
Then begin quickly, before you have time to sink back into the old slavery.
Set out in the dark. I will send fire to warm and encourage you. I will be with you in the fire and I will be with you in the cloud.
You will learn to eat new food and find refuge in new places.
I will give you dreams in the desert to guide you safely home to that place you have not yet seen.
The stories you tell one another around your fires in the dark will make you strong and wise.
Outsiders will attack you, some will follow you, and at times you will weary and turn on each other from fear and fatigue and blind forgetfulness.
You have been preparing for this for hundreds of years.
I am sending you into the wilderness to make a way and to learn my ways more deeply.
Those who fight you will teach you. Those who fear you will strengthen you. Those who follow you may forget you. Only be faithful. This alone matters.
Some of you will die in the desert, for the way is longer than anyone imagined. Some of you will give birth.
Some will join other tribes along the way,
and some will simply stop and create new families in a welcoming oasis.
Some of you will be so changed by weathers and wanderings that even your closest friends will have to learn your features as though for the first time.
Some of you will not change at all.
Sing songs as you go, and hold close together. You may, at times, grow confused and lose your way.
Continue to call each other by the names I’ve given you to help remember who you are. You will get where you are going by remembering who you are.
Tell your children lest they forget and fall into danger -
remind them even they were not born in freedom but under a bondage they no longer remember, which is still with them, if unseen.
So long ago you fell into slavery, slipped into it unaware, out of hunger and need.
Do not let your children sleep through the journey’s hardship.
Keep them awake and walking on their own feet so that you both remain strong and on course.
So you will be only the first of many waves of deliverance on these desert seas.
Do not go back. I am with you now and I am waiting for you.
Full PDF Here - http://www.jewbelong.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/JewBelongHaggadah-1.pdf
Racism is implicitly and explicitly embedded in American society’s structure and culture. It is a pervasive virus that seeps into all aspects of our lives, including our Jewish community. It’s what motivated a mob of Chasidic Jews to harass me in front of my home for carrying a Torah scroll because it was too far fetched for a black man carrying a Torah to be a fellow Jew. It’s what continues to marginalize Jewish people of color, making even holy Jewish spaces like synagogues intolerable for many.
Every year we recall the Israelite experience of oppression, redemption and the recurring commandment to care for those in society that remain oppressed, such as the stranger, the orphan and the widow. These memories and values are key to embodying anti-racism through concrete acts of care and shifting access to power, which is critical to actualizing our true multi-racial community in its fullest glory.
-- Yehudah Webster, Community Organizer, Jews for Racial and Economic Justice (JFREJ)
“Slavery was not born of racism: rather, racism was the consequence of slavery.”
- Hon. Dr. Eric Williams, historian, first prime minister of independent Trinidad and Tobago (1944) (Qtd. in Ron and Norwood, below)
Modern American racism was intentionally crafted in the American colonies as a form of social control — not just of Africans and Native Americans but also over poor white people. “[Slavery] made whiteness the mark of freedom, ensuring that ‘ordinary’ English settlers identified with their social betters instead of making common cause with the new [African] arrivals.“ (ibid) This intentional construction can be seen in the evolving legal definitions of whiteness over the years, from requiring three white grandparents to the “one drop rule.” Slavery, originally an economic choice, gave rise to an entire racial system for organizing society — which has been reinforced, in subsequent years, by bringing other people of color to this country as migrant workers.
(Drawn from "America Cannot Bear to Bring Back Indentured Servitude," by Ariel Ron and Dael Norwood, The Atlantic, 3/28/18)
White Supremacy vs. White Nationalism
According to Eric Ward, Executive Director of the Western States Center and an expert on fighting white nationalism, these two ideologies differ in important ways, despite starting from a shared belief that white people and culture are superior to people of color.
White Supremacy:
Goal: Exploit the bodies of people of color for economic and other gain, including sexual assault.
History: Foundational system that pervades all aspects of American life.
Impact on Jews: Ashkenazi and other white-appearing Jews benefit from many of the same privileges as other white people.
White Nationalism:
Goal: Expel people of color to create a “pure” white-only ethno-state.
History: Particular political ideology arising in the wake of the Civil Rights Movement.
Impact on Jews: Views all Jews as non-white and the root cause of white America’s ills.
For discussion:
1. Which is a better analogy for Egypt in the Exodus story, white supremacy or white nationalism?
2. How is white supremacy a root cause of forced labor and trafficking today?
3. How do these play out in our immigration system?
The traditional Haggadah lists ten plagues that afflicted the Egyptians. We live in a very different world, but Passover is a good time to remember that, even after our liberation from slavery in Egypt, there are still many challenges for us to meet. Here are ten “modern plagues”:
Inequity - Access to affordable housing, quality healthcare, nutritious food, good schools, and higher education is far from equal. The disparity between rich and poor is growing, and opportunities for upward mobility are limited.
Entitlement - Too many people consider themselves entitled to material comfort, economic security, and other privileges of middle-class life without hard work.
Fear - Fear of “the other” produces and reinforces xenophobia, anti-immigrant sentiment, antisemitism, homophobia, and transphobia.
Greed - Profits are a higher priority than the safety of workers or the health of the environment. The top one percent of the American population controls 42% of the country’s financial wealth, while corporations send jobs off-shore and American workers’ right to organize and bargain collectively is threatened.
Distraction - In this age of constant connectedness, we are easily distracted by an unending barrage of information, much of it meaningless, with no way to discern what is important.
Distortion of reality - The media constructs and society accepts unrealistic expectations, leading to eating disorders and an unhealthy obsession with appearance for both men and women.
Unawareness - It is easy to be unaware of the consequences our consumer choices have for the environment and for workers at home and abroad. Do we know where or how our clothes are made? Where or how our food is produced? The working conditions? The impact on the environment?
Discrimination - While we celebrate our liberation from bondage in Egypt, too many people still suffer from discrimination. For example, blacks in the United States are imprisoned at more than five times the rate of whites, and Hispanics are locked up at nearly double the white rate. Women earn 77 cents for every dollar earned by a man. At 61 cents to the dollar, the disparity is even more shocking in Jewish communal organization.
Silence - Every year, 4.8 million cases of domestic violence against American women are reported. We do not talk about things that are disturbing, such as rape, sex trafficking, child abuse, domestic violence, and elder abuse, even though they happen every day in our own communities.
Feeling overwhelmed and disempowered - When faced with these modern “plagues,” how often do we doubt or question our own ability to make a difference? How often do we feel paralyzed because we do not know what to do to bring about change?
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא פְּרִי הַגָּפֶן
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, borei p’ree hagafen.
We thank a higher power, shaper and maker, who creates the fruit of the vine.
Drink the second glass of wine!
The Heroic and Visionary Women of Passover by Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Rabbi Lauren Holtzblatt
On Passover, Jews are commanded to tell the story of the Exodus and to see ourselves as having lived through that story, so that we may better learn how to live our lives today. The stories we tell our children shape what they believe to be possible—which is why at Passover, we must tell the stories of the women who played a crucial role in the Exodus narrative.
The Book of Exodus, much like the Book of Genesis, opens in pervasive darkness. Genesis describes the earth as “unformed and void, with darkness over the surface of the deep.”1 In Exodus, darkness attends the accession of a new Pharaoh who feared the Israelites and so enslaved them. God alone lights the way out of the darkness in Genesis. But in Exodus, God has many partners, first among them, five brave women.
There is Yocheved, Moses’ mother, and Shifra and Puah, the famous midwives. Each defies Pharaoh’s decree to kill the Israelite baby boys. And there is Miriam, Moses’ sister, about whom the following midrash is taught:
[When Miriam’s only brother was Aaron] she prophesied... “my mother is destined to bear a son who will save Israel.” When [Moses] was born the whole house... filled with light[.] [Miriam’s] father arose and kissed her on the head, saying, “My daughter, your prophecy has been fulfilled.” But when they threw [Moses] into the river her father tapped her on the head saying, “Daughter, where is your prophecy?” So it is written, “And [Miriam] stood afar off to know what would be[come of] the latter part of her prophecy.”2
Finally, there is Pharaoh’s daughter Batya, who defies her own father and plucks baby Moses out of the Nile. The Midrash reminds us that Batya knew exactly what she doing:
When Pharaoh’s daughter’s handmaidens saw that she intended to rescue Moses, they attempted to dissuade her, and persuade her to heed her father. They said to her: “Our mistress, it is the way of the world that when a king issues a decree, it is not heeded by the entire world, but his children and the members of his household do observe it, and you wish to transgress your father’s decree?”3
But transgress she did.
These women had a vision leading out of the darkness shrouding their world. They were women of action, prepared to defy authority to make their vision a reality bathed in the light of the day.
Retelling the heroic stories of Yocheved, Shifra, Puah, Miriam and Batya reminds our daughters that with vision and the courage to act, they can carry forward the tradition those intrepid women launched.
While there is much light in today’s world, there remains in our universe disheartening darkness, inhumanity spawned by ignorance and hate. We see horrific examples in the Middle East, parts of Africa, and Ukraine. The Passover story recalls to all of us—women and men—that with vision and action we can join hands with others of like mind, kindling lights along paths leading out of the terrifying darkness.
Matzah Ball Soup
By Gary Teblum
(sung to the tune of “Jingle Bell Rock”)
Matzah ball, matzah ball, matzah ball soup
Matzah ball’s king in soup that we bring
Blowing and blowing on soup when it’s done
Soon we’ll know why there’s only one.
Matzah ball, matzah ball, matzah ball soup
See if we rhyme when’it’s matzah ball time
Floating and bloating from Matzah Ball pair
If you’re apt to dare.
What a bright time, it's the right time
To eat the soup this way
Matzah ball time is a swell time
To go sliding down your throat and say
Giddy-up matzah balls, fill up the bowls
For the entire group
Eating this consommé’s good for the souls
That's the matzah ball,
That's the matzah ball,
That's the matzah ball soup.
Blessing of the Stew Pot
Blessed be the Creator and all creative hands which plant and harvest, pack and haul and hand over sustenance—
Blessed be carrot and cow, potato and mushroom, tomato and bean, parsley and peas onion and thyme, garlic and bay leaf, pepper and water, marjoram and oil, and blessed be fire—
and blessed be the enjoyment of nose and eye, and blessed be color—
and blessed be the Creator for the miracle of red potato, for the miracle of green bean, for the miracle of fawn mushrooms and blessed be God for the miracle of earth:
ancestors, grass, bird, deer and all gone, wild creatures whose bodies became carrots, peas, and wild flowers, who give sustenance to human hands, whose agile dance of music nourishes the ear and soul of the dog resting under the stove and the woman working over the stove and the geese out the open window strolling in the backyard.
And blessed be God for all, all, all.
(Alla Renee Bozarth)
And the women dancing with their timbrels
Followed Miriam as she sang her song
Sing a song to the One whom we've exalted.
Miriam and the women danced and danced
the whole night long.
And Miriam was a weaver of unique variety.
The tapestry she wove was one which sang our history.
With every thread and every strand
she crafted her delight.
A woman touched with spirit, she dances
toward the light.
And the women dancing with their timbrels
Followed Miriam as she sang her song
Sing a song to the One whom we've exalted.
Miriam and the women danced and danced
the whole night long.
As Miriam stood upon the shores and gazed across the sea,
The wonder of this miracle she soon came to believe.
Whoever thought the sea would part with an outstretched hand,
And we would pass to freedom, and march to the promised land.
And the women dancing with their timbrels
Followed Miriam as she sang her song
Sing a song to the One whom we've exalted.
Miriam and the women danced and danced
the whole night long.
And Miriam the Prophet took her timbrel in her hand,
And all the women followed her just as she had planned.
And Miriam raised her voice with song.
She sang with praise and might,
We've just lived through a miracle, we're going to dance tonight!
And the women dancing with their timbrels
Followed Miriam as she sang her song
Sing a song to the One whom we've exalted.
Miriam and the women danced and danced
the whole night long.
At this point in the Seder, traditional Jews would open the door and literally shout angry words at their enemies: " Sh'foch ha-Matcha... May God pour out His wrath on them!" It was directed toward those who had persecuted them and had accused the Jewish community of a blood libel -- of making matzoh with the blood of Christian children. Opening the door at this juncture gave the Jewish family the excuse to open the door to show that there was nothing sinister happening at the Seder.
Tonight we are beyond this, for we sit together, Jew and extended family. We sit around one table with an open door and an outstretched hand. We welcome those who journey from other faiths -- or no faith at all -- to sit in peace and acceptance.
Tonight, we take all the pain from our journey, all the pain that men, women and children -- whether they be a Jew, Christian, Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, Humanist or Atheist -- has endured throughout the ages, and bring it into a healing place of love, respect and forgiveness. With forgiveness for what is past, we move forward in the spirit and energy of creating positive change in our future. Let us acknowledge our grief, mourn for what has been, release the past, and move powerfully forward from a place of love for our families, our communities, our planet, and all humanity.
Hinei ma tov umanaim
Shevet achim gam yachad
Hinei ma tov umanaim
Shevet achim gam yachad
Behold how good and
How pleasant it is
For brothers to dwell together
Take Me Out to the Sedar
(Sung to the tune of Take Me Out to the Ballgame)
Take me out to the sedar
Take me out with the crowd
Feed me some matzah and kosher wine
We'll wine and diner and we'll have a good time
For we'll root for Moshe Rabbeinu
And our crossing through the Red Sea
For it's one, two... four cups of wine
We rejoice that we are free!
After all the ritual, there is an entire section of the Seder devoted to song, which continues until everyone is sober enough to drive home. Tonight we will conclude by remembering the talented Canadian Jewish songwriter, Leonard Cohen who died in November of last year, leaving the world with the gift of Hallelujah.
Now, I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah
CHORUS: Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah
CHORUS: Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken hallelujah
CHORUS: Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the lord of song
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah
CHORUS: Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah......
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.”
Next Year In...
It is traditional to end a seder with L’shanah ha-ba’ah b’Yerushalayim —Next Year in Jerusalem! The call speaks to a feeling of exile which characterized the Jewish Diaspora for centuries. How might we understand this today? A close look at the word Yerushalayim suggests an answer. The name can be read as deriving from Ir Shalem (“City of Wholeness”) or Ir Shalom (“City of Peace”). No matter where we are or what our politics, we all slip into exile from the state of wholeness and unity which only connection with our Source can provide. Next year, wherever we are, may we be whole and at peace.
Good and Evil Deeds are not equal. Repel evil with what is better. Then you will see that one who was once your enemy has become you dearest friend. Quran 41:34
our hearts smoke as we gaze
toward hills that rise
above the haze of waiting waters
tonight our doors are open
harsh ties that bind us are cut
and we search under the sand
familiar songs and favorite foods
signal that we have come far
and that we are always at the beginning
released and releasing
remembered and remembering
in every state, grateful
to our heroes and the unnamed
who before us laid places
around this long, long table
The traditional aspiration, "Next Year in Jerusalem," is our people's millennia-old hope for redemption.
Together, this year, may we help to achieve....
Peace in societies torn by war
Freedom from bigotry and oppression
Equality for minorities shunned by prejudice and hatred
Respect for the aspirations and humanity of women and girls
Acceptance for people persecuted for who they are or whom they love
Sustenance for communities living in hunger
A safe harbor for refugees and survivors of violence
And the promise of dignity and human rights for all.
Together we pray: "Next year in a more just world." And through our actions from this Passover to the next, let us make this dream a reality.
Do we all truly know that Black lives matter?
Go Down Moses is a Negro Spiritual, originally sung by enslaved Africans in the American South. It describes the Exodus story and so it has become common for Jews to sing it during the Seder. As we use the beautiful songs of Black people to enrich our Jewish traditions, Evan Traylor asks you to reflect on what it means to sing a song of freedom when so many are not free.
On this Passover, as we remind ourselves of the preciousness of freedom, let us be reminded that we are not all free. Black people in the United States continue to suffer from oppression. And while Black people are not physically enslaved as during the dark part of our nation’s history, they still suffer from education inequality, mass incarceration, police brutality, and other forms of both blatant and subtle racism.
Do we all truly know that Black lives matter?
Just as during the Exodus story, may all of us have the leadership of Moses, the spirit of Miriam, and the undying courage of Nachshon to stand with Black people and ensure that everyone knows and believes that Black lives matter. Just as the Israelites did not turn back from the Red Sea, we must not turn back from the enormous challenges that are wounding and killing Black people in the United States. Mirroring the Israelites crossing the Red Sea with danger at their backs, we too must join hands, face the challenges, and overcome. Through faith and fellowship, we shall overcome.
Sweet Charoset to the tune of “Sweet Caroline”
May be shared with credit line: © 2020 by Marc I. Leavey, M.D., Baltimore, Maryland
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Before it begins, I get some nuts and apples
And cinnamon to make it strong
Chag in the spring
Prepare for Seder table
The family comes to sing this song
Dip, carpas dip
Reaching out, some for me, some for you
Sweet Charoset
Every year it seems so good
We sit reclined
Tell the story as we could
And then we
Go through the night
And we read the Hagadah
We started with cups one and two
After we eat
We bentch and say the Hallel
Then it’s time for the second two
Dip, carpas dip
Reaching out, some for me, some for you
Sweet Charoset
Every year it seems so good
