Long ago at this season, our people set out on a journey.

On such a night as this, Israel went from degradation to joy.

We give thanks for the liberation of days gone by.

And we pray for all who are still bound.

God, may all who hunger come to rejoice in a new Passover.

Let all the human family sit together, drink the wine of deliverance, and eat the bread of freedom:

Freedom from bondage     and freedom from oppression

Freedom from hunger     and freedom from want

Freedom from hatred     and freedom from fear

Freedom to think     and freedom to speak

Freedom to teach     and freedom to learn

Freedom to love     and freedom to share

Freedom to hope     and freedom to rejoice

Soon, in our days     Amen.

Now in the presence of loved ones and friends, before us the symbols of festive rejoicing, we gather for our sacred celebration. With our elders and young ones, linking and bonding the past with the future, we heed once again the divine call to service. Living our story that is told for all peoples, whose shining conclusion is yet to unfold, we gather to observe Passover.

You shall keep the Feast of Unleavened Bread, for on this very day I brought you out of Egypt. You shall observe this day throughout the generations as a practice for all times.

We assemble in fulfillment of the mitzvah.

Remember the day on which you went forth from Egypt, from the house of slavery, and how G-d freed you with a mighty hand.

The central imperative of the Seder is to tell the story. The Bible instructs: “ You shall tell your child on that day, saying: ‘This is because of what Adonai did for me when I came out of Egypt.' ” (Exodus 13:8) We relate the story of our ancestors to regain the memories as our own. Elie Weisel writes: God created man because He loves stories. We each have a story to tell — a story of enslavement, struggle, liberation. Be sure to tell your story at the Seder table, for the Passover is offered not as a one-time event, but as a model for human experience in all generations.

Ha lachma anya d’achaloo avhatana b’ara d’meetzrayeem. Kol dichfeen yay-tay vi’yachool, kol deetzreech yay-tay viyeesfsach. Hashata hach. Li’shana ha-ba-aa bi’arah di’yeesrael. Hashata av’day, li’shana ha-ba a bi’nay choreen.

This is the bread of affliction, which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are in need, come and celebrate Passover. Today, we are here. Next year, in the land of Israel. Today, we are slaves. Next year, we will be free.

Written in Aramaic, this statement begins the narration of the Seder by inviting the hungry to our table. Aramaic, Jewish legend has it, is the one language which the angels do not understand. Why then is Ha Lachma spoken in Aramaic? To teach us that where there is hunger, no one should rely upon the angels, no one should pray to the heavens for help. We know the language of the poor, for we were poor in the land of Egypt. We know that we are called to feed the poor and to call them to join our celebration of freedom.

“People of our time are losing the power of celebration. Instead of celebrating we seek to be amused or entertained. Celebration is an active state, an act of expressing reverence or appreciation. To be entertained is a passive state--it is to receive pleasure afforded by an amusing act or a spectacle.... Celebration is a confrontation, giving attention to the transcendent meaning of one's actions. ― Abraham Joshua Heschel

This is what every Seder is about. Celebration of freedom, expressing reverence, appreciation, and confronting who we were and who we have become.

Uppermost of the three matzah is broken and distributed around the table.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us with His laws and commanded us to eat matzah.

Baruch Atah Ado-nai, Elo-heinu Melech Ha-olam, Asher Kid’shanu B’mitzvotav V’tzivanu Al Achilat matzah.

Maror (bitter herbs, such as horseradish)--the symbol of bitterness and slavery of the Israelites in Egypt. Today, in a Jewish community that is free, this bitterness takes on another layer of meaning. We acknowledge that there are many among us who are embittered by their feelings of resentment, discomfort, and fear. We know that there is just cause for some of these feelings of fear, for Jews were "other" for so many centuries and mistreated just because they were different.

This laden history has often contributed to some of our families' inability to accept the idea of intermarriage. We acknowledge that Jewish people have struggled and been enslaved in the past and we stretch to transform this defeated posture. We also know that sometimes our own enslavement or emotional bondage prevents us from being open to hearing each other in our marriage. Loyalties to families of origin need to be honored, unless they prevent us from creating true intimacy. Bitter places are stuck places, and we commit ourselves tonight to moving beyond our own positions to find new points of intersection and connection.

Tonight we dip our bitterness in the sweetness of charoset. Charoset, the sweet mixture of fruits and nuts, symbolizes the mortar of the bricks of the Israelites. It is also the mortar of commitment and interdependence that enabled the Jewish community to survive through those centuries of oppression. It is the building blocks of hope and tradition, which are sweet. We take our maror of fear, and by dipping it into the sweetness we create a new model that honors the fear and suffering yet holds out hope for the future.

By blending our maror and charoset, we acknowledge the blending of faiths and traditions that sit around this table here tonight. We know it is not always sweet and it is not always bitter, but that life is a mixture of both. Just as our taste buds are designed for sweet, salty, sour and bitter, so we taste the range of textures of our relationships. By our dipping tonight we bring together the bitter and the sweet for something new to emerge.

The Struggle Continues

The struggle for freedom is constant. In every age, new freedoms are won. Yet each age also creates more Pharaohs. We must work towards a time when everyone will be free from oppression.

On this Seder night, we recall, with anguish and with love, the six million Jews of Europe, who were destroyed at the hands of a modern-day Pharaoh; one far worse than Pharaoh of Egypt. Their memory must never be forgotten. The atrocities of the Holocaust must always be remembered, and the story retold, just as the story of Exodus is retold.

The memory of the six million Jews who died at the hands of the Nazis will never be forgotten, the light of their hope shall never be extinguished.

We now read an excerpt from "Ani Maamin," a poem by Elie Weisel, about Passover in the concentration camps.

Ani Maamin

A camp. An inmate.
A creature without a name, A man without a face,
Without a destiny,
It is night,
The first night of Passover.
The camp is asleep, He alone is awake.
He talks to himself Soundlessly.
I hear his words, I capture his silence,
To himself, to me, He is saying:
I have not partaken of Matzot, Nor of Marror.
I have not emptied the four cups, Symbols of the four deliverances.
I did not invite the hungry to share my repast - Or even the hunger.
No longer have I a son to ask me the four questions - No longer have I the strength to answer ...
The parable of Chad Gadya is misleading:
God will not come to slay the slaughterer.
The innocent victims will go unavenged.
The ancient wish -Leshana Habaa Bi-Yerushalaim -
Will not be granted.
I shall not be in Jerusalem next year. Or anywhere else.
Next year I shall not be. And then,
How do I know that Jerusalem is there, Far away,
That Jerusalem is not here?
Still, I recite the Haggadah As though I believe in it.
And I wait the prophet Elijah, As I did long ago.
I open my heart to him and say: Welcome, prophet of the promise,
Welcome, herald of redemption. Come, share in my story.
Come, rejoice with the Dead that we are.
Empty the cup that bears your name.
Come to us, Come to us on this Passover night: We are in Egypt,
And we are the ones to suffer God's plagues.
Come, friend of the poor, Defender of the oppressed,
Come. I shall wait for you.
And even if you disappoint me, I shall go on waiting.
Ani Maamin

In a moment, our Seder will be complete. However, we remember that working against oppression in the world is our never-ending responsibility. We recommit ourselves to the vision of a world filled with peace and justice for all. We work for a world where "nation shall not lift-up sword against nation nor study war anymore." We work for a world where people are not treated differently because of their race, their religion, their gender, their age, their marital status, their skin color, the people they love, their profession or their politics. We work for a world that affirms the inherent worth and dignity of every person on our planet and assures basic human rights for everyone, everywhere. Like Nachshon standing at the shore of the Red Sea, we are not waiting for a miracle but rather proceeding with faith that G-d will support us and give us the strength and resolve to work together to heal the world.

We close our Seder by saying, "L'Shanah Haba'ah B'Yerushalyim", which means "Next Year in Jerusalem." For centuries, this declaration expressed the Jewish people's goal to return to our homeland. Even after the founding of the State of Israel in 1948, these words still resonate with us. We all have our own personal aspirations and dreams that we are striving for. As we conclude our Seder, may we have the strength and the will to continue working toward our personal Jerusalem and toward a world where all people will live in shalom -- peace, safety and freedom.