The Seder

This book is a Hagadah.which means “telling.” Tonight we will be having a seder, which means, “order”.Through this traditionally ordered ritual, we will retell the story of the Israelites’ journey out of Egypt, eat special foods that symbolize Pesach's many messages, and teach each other the traditions of Pesach, first celebrated more than 3,000 years ago.

An ancient rabbinic text instructs us, “Each person in every generation must regard himself or herself as having been personally freed from Egypt.” for the seder to be successful.

Tonight’s Seder is not just the retelling of an ancient story.Rather, we are asked to actually experience and acknowledge the bitterness of oppression and the sweetness of freedom so we may better understand the hope and courage of all men and women, of all generations, in their quest for liberty, security, and human rights. This haggadah attempts to incorporate the lives and work of each guest, and to relate the traditional story of passover to our personal experiences and to the modern world around us.

In the words of Audre Lorde: I cannot afford the luxury of fighting one form of oppression only. I cannot afford to believe that freedom from intolerance is the right of only one particular group. And I cannot afford to choose between the fronts upon which I must battle these forces of discrimination, .wherever they appear to destroy me. And when they appear to destroy me, it will not be long before they appear to destroy you.

The order of the seder:

Kadesh-the recitation of Kiddush.
Urchatz-washing the hands.
Karpas-eating a vegetable dipped in salt-water.
Yachatz-breaking of the middle matzo.
Maggid-the recitation of the Hagadah.
Rachtzah-washing of the hands a second time.
Motze-the recitation of the blessing hamotzi.
Matzah-the recitation of the blessing al Achilas matzo, eating the matzo.
Morror-eating the bitter herbs.
Korech-eating a sandwich of matzo and bitter herbs.
Shulchan Oruch-eating the festive meal.
Tzafun-eating the afikomen.
Bayrech-the recitation of grace.
Hallel-the recitation of Hallel psalms of praise

Nirtzah-our prayer that G-d accepts our service.

Come, let us gather as one, bound together by love and the shared hope that all Jews, and all people, will one day live free and in peace. Together, let us recall the story of Passover, relived time and again by Jews throughout the world. As we move through the Seder, reaffirming our belief in a faith so rich in history and life, may we take into our hearts the memory of all who have and continue to enrich our lives and remember those who still suffer the pain of war, oppression, tyranny, and prejudice.

- The Chaikin Family

The entire story of the Haggadah is contained in the Seder plate (קערה ke'ara); everything on it symbolizes an aspect of Exodus:

Zeroa (זרוֹע)a roasted bone, evokes the offering made at the Temple in ancient times.

Beitza (ביצה‎), a boiled egg, symbolizes the circle of life and death.

Maror (מָרוֹר), a bitter herb, reminds us of the bitterness of enslavement.

Charoset (חֲרֽוֹסֶת), a mixture of fruit, nuts, wine and spices, represents the mortar our ancestors used to build the structures of Mitzrayim.

Karpas (כַּרְפַּס), a green vegetable, symbolizes hope and renewal.

Chazeret (חזרת), the bitter herb for the “sandwich” we eat later, following the custom established by Hillel the Elder, as a reminder that our ancestors “ate matzah and bitter herbs together”

In the early 1980s, while speaking at Oberlin College Hillel, Susannah Heschel was introduced to an early feminist  haggadah  that suggested adding a crust of bread on the  seder  plate, as a sign of solidarity with Jewish lesbians (there's as much room for a lesbian in Judaism as there is for a crust of bread on the  seder  plate). Heschel felt that to put bread on the seder plate would be to accept that Jewish lesbians and gay men violate Judaism like  chametz  violates Passover.

So, at her next  seder,  she chose an orange as a symbol of inclusion of gays and lesbians and others who are marginalized within the Jewish community. She offered the orange as a symbol of the fruitfulness for all Jews when lesbians and gay men are contributing and active members of Jewish life. In addition, each orange segment had a few seeds that had to be spit out—a gesture of spitting out, repudiating the homophobia of Judaism. While lecturing, Heschel often mentioned her custom as one of many feminist rituals that have been developed in the last twenty years.

She writes, "Somehow, though, the typical patriarchal maneuver occurred: my idea of an orange and my intention of affirming lesbians and gay men were transformed. Now the story circulates that a MAN said to me that a woman belongs on the  bimah  as an orange on the seder plate. A woman's words are attributed to a man, and the affirmation of lesbians and gay men is erased. Isn't that precisely what's happened over the centuries to women's ideas?"

In lighting the candles at dusk we symbolize the end of an ordinary day and the begining of a sacred day, a day which reminds us of the first day at Creation, and the first day of our peoplehood. 

Candles also symbolize an end of Winter, a begining of Spring, and also a long history of struggle against oppression. We must join with all oppressed peoples, honoring both our differences and our need to work together for the future of ourselve and our children. 

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel (Shabbat v'shel) Yom Tov.

We bless the Source of all existence, who shows us paths to holiness, and inspires us to kindle the (Shabbat and) festival lights.

Hannah Szenes was a young Nazi resistance fighter. The Nazis captured her and brought Hannah's mother to her. They said that if Hannah didn't reveal the names of the resistance movement, her mother would be killed. Hannah told her mother she could not betray the resistance. Her mother replied that by not giving in the oppressor, Hannah had proved her love.

Hannah Szenes was captured, tortured, and put to death at the age of 20. She wrote this poem in prison in Budapest before her execution:

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling the flame.

Blessed is the flame that burns in the secret fastness of the heart.

Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honor's sake.

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling the flame.

-  Hannah Szenes 1921-1944

Consider the cup of wine which we are about to drink. Countless sets of hands played a role in bringing the wine to our seder: the entrepreneurs and farm-owners who decided to direct their energies and capital into the wine business, the workers who planted and pruned the vines, those who picked the grapes, the vintners who directed the fermentation of freshly harvested fruits into wine, the janitors who kept the winery clean and sanitary, the truck drivers and loading dock workers who transported the finished product, the clerks at the wine shops, and the servers who bring the wine to our tables tonight.

The First Cup - A Cup to Action

As we come together this year the world can seem grim, and at times we are tired and lose hope of any change occuring, especially with the pace and level of destruction the US government is perpetrating. What we drink to tonight is our community fomenting change together, around this table and around the world. This year, we drink to the people around the world who have taken to the streets, the buildings, the cities in protest of unjust, racist, and classist actions. Tonight we come together to recount the stories from the past, share stories of present struggles, and envision together the future we will build with our allies.

Share stories of active resistance in which you have participated or that have inspired you over the past year.

Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam borei p’ri hagafen.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.

At this time it is customary for individuals to wash their hands. As we wash our hands, let us remember the indigenous people whose land was stolen by the government and who continue to fight to protect their water. Let us also remember the people of Flint, Michigan who continue their fight for clean and safe water.

"The next world war will be over water"

- Ismail Serageldin, former World Bank vice president

Why do we dip karpas into salt water?

At the begining of this season of rebirth and growth, we recall the tears of our ancestors in bondage.

And why should salt water be touched by karpas?

To remind us that tears stop. Even after pain. Spring comes.

Take some greens and dip them in salt water and say:

Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam borei p’ri ha’adamah.

Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who creates the fruit of the earth.

We are about to take the middle matzah and divide it in half. This matzah which we break and set aside is a symbol of our unity with Jews throughout the world. We will not conclude our Seder until the missing piece (the Afikomen) is found and spiritually reunited. This is a reminder of the indestructible link which infuses us as a world family. 

In unison we say…

We cannot forget those who remain behind in any land of persecution, fearful of a growing public anti-Semitism or bigotry. To those still seeking liberty of life, to those striving courageously to build a better Jewish life in the country of their choice and to those of all humankind that strive to live a free and equal existence with all people of the world regardless of gender, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation and gender identity and religion, we pledge our continued vigilance, support, and solidarity.

Later, we will search for the hidden piece of matzah. In much the same way, we seek to reconnect with our neighbors throughout the world. Once having found the missing half, we will be able to continue our Seder. So, too, will the continued bonding of Diaspora Jewry with our homeland allow Israel to grow and blossom as the eternal core of our collective Jewish identity.

In unison, we say…

We pray that they may live in peace, in a land at peace, with a world knowing war no more. We pray that the characteristics that make each human unique will be celebrated everywhere, with a world embracing diversity and knowing prejudice no more.

We break the middle matzah in half and place the larger piece of matzah, the Afikomen, in a napkin and hide it.

The door is opened as a sign of hospitality.

The matzot are uncovered and held up.

In unison, we say...

Behold the matzah, bread of infliction, which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat; all who are needy, come and celebrate the Passover with us.

The Magid – The Story of the Israelites’ Journey from Slavery to Freedom

As we retell our story, we hold in our minds and inscribe on our hearts the stories of the millions of people across the globe who still yearn to be free.

In unison, we say...

 ֲעָבִד ָ ים הִי ּ ינו ְ לַפְרעֹ ְּה ב ִמ ְצָרִים

Avadim hayinu l’Pharaoh b’Mitzrayim.

We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt.

Pour the second cup of wine.

Uncover the matzot

ה ַא ל ְחָמ ַא עְנָי ִא דּ י אָכ ּלו ַ א ְבָהָתָנ ְא בַאְרָעאְד ִמ ְצָרִי ָּם. כ ִל ד ְכ ִפיןֵי ֵית ְי וֵי ֹ יכ ָּ ל, כ ִל ד ְצִריךי ֵית ְי וִי ְפַס ָח. הַּׁש ָּתאָהָכ ְ א, לָׁשָנ ַה הָּבָאהבַאְרָע ְא דִי ְ ׂשָרֵא ָ ל. הַּׁש ָּתאע ְבֵד ְ י, לָׁשָנ ַה הָּבָאהבֵנ ֹ י חוִרין.

Ha lachma anyah di achalu av’hatanah v’ar’ah d’Mitzrayim. Kol dich’fin yay-tay v’yaichol, kol ditzrich yay-tay v’yifsach. Hashatah hacha, l’shanah ha’ba’ah b’ar’ah d’Yisrael. Hashatah avdei, l’shanah ha’ba’ah b’nei chorin.

This is the bread of affliction, the poor bread, that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all who are hungry come and eat, all who are in need come and celebrate Passover with us. This year we are here; next year we will be in Israel. This year we are slaves; next year we will be free.*

* This is one of the oldest passages in the Haggadah. It is written in Aramaic and existed when the Second Temple was still standing, prior to 70 BCE

This is matzot, the pressed-down bread of oppression and rebellion that our foremothers baked and ate at a time when they were organizing and preparing and resisting and running. There was no time for the bread to rise. Each year we eat matzot to remind ourselve of their struggle and that our struggle continues.

In the world today there are many who are so pressed-down that they have not even this bread of oppression to eat. We remember the people of Palestine, immigrants seeking asylum from violence and terror, people here at home, and those around the world who are stricken with poverty and hunger. There are so many who are hungry who cannot come and eat with us tonight. Therefore we say to them, we set aside this bread as a token that we owe you righteousness, tzedakah,  and that we will fulfill it. ( set aside a piece of matzot).  And to ourselves we say: not by bread alone. But by everything that is brought forth by the mouth of Hashem, lives the human; share your bread with hungry, says our tradition.

On all other nights we eat leavened bread and matzot. Why on this night do we only eat matzot?

We were slaves in Mitzrayim. Our mothers, in their flight from bondage from Mitzrayim, did not have time to let the dough rise. With not a moment to spare they snatched up the dough they had prepared and fled. The hot sun beat down on them as they carried the dough with them and baked it into the flat unleavened bread we call matzot. In memory of this we eat only matzot and no bread during Passover. This matzot represents our rush to freedom.

On all other nights we eat all kinds of vegetables. Why on this night do we eat the bitter herbs?

We were slaves. We eat maror to remind us how bitter our ancestors' lives were made by their enslavement in Mitzrayim.

On all other nights we do not dip food once. Why on this night do we dip twice?

We were slaves. The first time we dip our greens to taste the brine of enslavement. We also dip to remind ourselves of life and growth, of earth and sea, which gives us sustenance and comes to life again in the springtime. The second time we dip the maror into the charoset. The charoset reminds us of the mortar that our ancestors mized as slaves in Mitzrayim. But our charoset is made of fruit and nuts to show us that our ancestors were able to withstand the bitterness of slavery because it was sweetened by the hope of freedom.

On all other nights we sit on straight chairs. Why on this night do we relax and recline on pillows during the seder?

We were slaves. Long ago, wealthy Romans rested on couches during their feasts. Slaves were not allowed to rest, not even while they ate. Since our ancestors were were freed from slavery, we recline to remind ourselves that we, like our ancestors, can overcome bondage in our own time.

For each plague place a drop of wine onto your plate by dipping your finger. This dipping is not food into food; it is personal and intimate, a momentary submersion like the first steps taken into the Red Sea.

Dam—Blood

Tzfardeiya—Frogs

Kinim—Lice

Dever—Pestilence

Shechin—Boils ּ

Barad—Hail

Arbeh—Locusts

Choshech—Darkness

Makat B’chorot— Death of the Firstborn

Remembering the ten plagues that God brought upon the Egyptians when Pharaoh refused to free the Israelites, we have the opportunity now to recognize that the world is not yet free of adversity and struggle. This is especially true for refugees and asylum seekers. We invite you to now pour out drops of wine for ten modern plagues facing refugee communities worldwide and in the United States.

VIOLENCE

DANGEROUS JOURNEYS 

POVERTY

FOOD INSECURITY

LACK OF ACCESS TO EDUCATION

XENOPHOBIA

ANTI-REFUGEE LEGISLATION

LANGUAGE BARRIERS

WORKFORCE DISCRIMINATION

LOSS OF FAMILY

אִ ּלּו הֹוצִ יאָ ֽ נּו מִ ּמִ צְ רַ ֽ יִם, ּדַ ּיֵ נּו.

Ilu hotzianu mi mitzrayim, dayeinu!

If God had only taken us out of Egypt, that would have been enough!

Dayenu recalls every step in our path to redemption: departure from Egypt, the splitting of the sea, sustenance in the wilderness, the giving of the Torah and our arrival in the land of Israel. And although we express gratitude for each moment by saying, “It would have been enough,” we know that all of these steps were necessary to achieve full freedom. Had the journey ended with the leaving of Egypt, we would not be free people.

As today’s freedom-seekers depart their own Egypts, they contend with obstacles as formidable as the raging sea and find the strength to persevere through the challenges that lie ahead. We stand with them proudly through the duration of their journeys.

It is critical that we support survivors of disasters, wars and conflicts until they are able to rebuild their lives. We must stand with religious and ethnic minorities as long as the threat of violence or genocide rages. We must fight for the rights of women, girls and LGBT people until true equality is achieved. And we must persevere in defending the precious natural resources that sustain our world. Just as the Israelites needed support at each step of their journey, so too do those around the world who persist in lifting the shadow of suffering and oppression.

Lift the second cup of wine and read together

ּבָ רּוְך אַ ּתָ ה יְיָ, אֱ ֹלהֵ ינּו מֶ לֶ ְך הָ עֹולָ ם, ּבֹורֵ א ּפְ רִ י הַ ּגָ פֶ ן.

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, borei peri hagafen.

We praise God, Ruler of Everything, who creates the fruit of the vine.

Just as we remember all of the times throughout history when the nations of the world shut their doors on Jews fleeing violence and persecution in their homelands, so, too, do we remember with gratitude the bravery of those who took us in during our times of need – the Ottoman Sultan who welcomed Spanish Jews escaping the Inquisition, Algerian Muslims who protected Jews during pogroms initiated by the French Pied-Noir, and the righteous gentiles hiding Jews in their homes during World War II.

Today, we aspire to stand on the right side of history as we ask our own government to take a leadership role in protecting the world’s most vulnerable refugees and asylum seekers. May we find the bravery to open up our nation and our hearts to those who are in need. Blessed are You, Adonai our God, who delivers those in search of safety

Drink the second cup of wine

ּבָ רּוְך אַ ּתָ ה יְיָ, אֱ ֹלהֵ ֽ ינּו מֶ ֽ לֶ ְך הָ עֹולָ ם, אֲ ׁשֶ ר קִ ּדְ ׁשָ ֽ נּו ּבְ מִ צְ ֹותַָ יו וְ צִ ּוָ ֽנּו עַ ל אֲ כִ ילַ ת מַ ּצָ ה.

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

We praise God, Ruler of Everything, who made us holy through obligations, commanding us to eat matzah.

At the Passover Seder, we eat matzah as we remember the modest means by which the Israelites sustained themselves on their journey out of slavery, enabling them to survive and thrive in their new homeland.

Like our ancestors, today’s refugees rebuild their lives with precious few resources at their disposal. These meager resources often become the seeds of their liberation as they go on to lay down new roots, rebuild their lives, and make important contributions to their local communities and our country as a whole.

We dip the bitter herbs in the charoset and say:

ּבָ רּוְך אַ ּתָ ה יְיָ,ַ אֱ ֹלהֵ ֽ ינּו מֶ ֽ לֶ ְך הָ עֹולָ ם, אֲ ׁשֶ ר קִ ּדְ ׁשָ ֽ נּו ּבְ מִ צְ ֹותָ יו, וְ צִ ּוָ ֽנּו עַ ל אֲ כִ ילַ ת מָ רֹור.

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid’shanu bemitzvotav, vetzivanu al achilat maror.

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

With the taste of bitterness just before our lips, we remind ourselves of the bitterness that led to the enslavement of our ancestors in Egypt. Tonight, we force ourselves to experience the stinging pain of the maror so that we should remember that, appallingly, even centuries later, the bitterness of xenophobia still oppresses millions of people around the world, forcing them to flee their homes.

As we taste the bitter herbs, we vow not to let words of hatred pass through our own lips and to root out intolerant speech wherever we may hear it, so that no one should fall victim to baseless hatred.

In the time of the second Temple in Jerusalem, the sage Hillel ate the matzah, maror and the Passover Sacrifice—Korban Pesach—together. This combination of tastes and flavors encompasses the full evolution from slavery to freedom. The maror is the bitterness of persecution. The matzah is the bread baked on the Israelites’ backs as they fled. The lamb is a symbol of their redemption.

Tonight, the korech sandwich represents the bitter and sweet that coexist in our world, and our responsibility to tip the scales toward sweetness, justice, and redemption.

Over the next year, what will you do to temper the bitterness of xenophobia, racism, and anti-refugee hatred?

The egg that we place on the Seder plate is meant to remind us of the natural cycle of life – that, even after enormous suffering, we can experience renewal and rebirth. The hard-boiled egg reminds us that the longer things are in hot water, the stronger they become. This is true for us in our struggle against oppression: we gain strength through adversity.

Just as the Jewish people not only survived but also thrived following our exodus from Egypt and the many persecutions and expulsions we experienced thereafter, so, too, do today’s refugees rebuild their lives in extraordinary ways. Let us now read three of their stories.

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Evelyn Lauder (née Hausner), a native of Vienna, Austria, fled Nazi-occupied Europe with her family as a young child and came to the United States with HIAS’ assistance. Shortly after starting her teaching career in Harlem, Evelyn met and married Leonard Lauder. After they were married, she joined the business founded by her mother-in-law: Estée Lauder Companies. She ultimately became Senior Corporate Vice President, created the Clinique brand, and developed its product line. Evelyn Lauder’s philanthropy and passion brought breast cancer and women’s health issues to the forefront of public awareness. She co-established The Breast Cancer Research Foundation, which formalized the pink ribbon as a worldwide symbol for breast cancer awareness and has raised over $350 million to support breast cancer research across the globe.

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Having fled civil war in his native Liberia in 1994, Wilmot Collins came to this country as a refugee. In the days before he and his wife left Monrovia, food was so scarce they once ate toothpaste. Once resettled in the United States, Wilmot became a U.S. citizen and worked for the Montana Department of Health and Human Services, specializing in child protection. He has also been a member of the United States Navy Reserve. Today, he is mayor of Helena, Montana, having defeated a four-term incumbent mayor to become the first black person to be elected the mayor of any city in the history of Montana.

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Sam (Yamin) Yingichay grew up in Myanmar (formerly known as Burma) as one of an estimated 168 million children between the ages of 5 and 14 engaged in child labor around the world. Forced into constructing roads and living with an abusive stepfather, at 14, Yamin escaped and began to search for her birth father. Eventually, she met a man claiming to know her father and followed him to Thailand, where she was once again sold into hard labor. Holding onto hope that she would one day be free, Yamin survived and escaped to Malaysia where she was granted refugee status and accepted for resettlement to the United States. In 2008, Yamin arrived in Grand Haven, Michigan to live with a foster family. Today, Yamin is studying to become a nurse. She dreams of being able to support her family still living in Myanmar and to help other refugees in the United States.

Now eat and drink to your heart's delight. It is permitted to drink wine between the second and third cups.

As the meal is ending, the youngest participants – in body or spirit! – should go look for the afikomen, which was hidden earlier in the meal. Once it is found, read the passage below as the group shares in eating the afikomen. Nothing is eaten after the afikomen so that the matzah may be the last food tasted.

Earlier in our Seder, we broke the middle matzah, hiding the larger piece out of sight. What was broken and out of reach to us now becomes our sustenance. As we share in the afikomen, we acknowledge that there are those who would ignore today’s refugees and asylum seekers, overwhelmed by their suffering or even actively opposed to responding to their plight. Our sacred task, then, is to bring their stories into view and ensure that they are not hidden from the world’s attention

א ָּת ְה יָי, ָּב ּרוך ְ ָ ה ֹעוָלם, ֱאלֵֹה ּ ינו ֶ מֶלך ַהָּז ֶ ן א ָת ה ֹעוָל ֻּם כ ּלֹו ְּב ּטו ֹבו ְּ בֵח ְּ ן בֶחֶסד ּו ְבַרֲח ִמ ּ ים, הו ֹ א נוֵתן ֶלֶח ְם לָכ ָּל בָ ׂש ִּר כי ְל ֹעוָל ַם ח ְס ֹדו.

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha’olam, ha’zan et ha’olam kulo b’tuvo b’chen b’chesed u’v’rachamim, Hu notein lechem l’chol basar ki l’olam chasdo.

Blessed are You, Our God, Ruler of the Universe, who nourishes the entire universe with your goodness; in kindness, mercy, and compassion, You provide food to all living beings, for your love is everlasting.

Pour the third cup of wine

א ָּתה יי, ָּב ּרוך ְ ָ ה ֹעוָלם, ֱאלֵֹה ּ ינו ֶ מֶלך ּבֹוֵר ְּא פִר ַ י הָּֽגֶפן.

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

Blessed are You, our God, Ruler of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.

Emboldened to welcome refugees into our communities, may we remember that true welcome is not completed upon a person’s safe arrival in our country but in all the ways we help people to rebuild their lives. As God provided for our needs on the long journey from slavery to the Promised Land, let us give the refugees in our communities the tools they need not just to survive but to thrive: safe homes to settle into, quality education for their children, English language tutoring, access to jobs, and all of the things we would want for ourselves and our families. Blessed are You, Adonai our God, who gives us the opportunity to be your partner in ongoing redemption.

Drink the third cup of wine

מִ ן הַ ּמֵ צַ ר קָ רָ אתִ י ּיָ ּה, עָ נָנִ י ּבַ ּמֶ רְ חָ ב יָּה.

Min hameitzar karati ya, anani bamerchav yah.

From the narrow place I called to God, God answered me with expansiveness.

In each of our lives and in our struggles for justice, there are times when we feel caught in a “narrow place”—trapped by fear, anger or hopelessness. But rather than despair, we can praise and be thankful for the moments of expansiveness and possibility.

Praise for friends and allies who call for justice by our side.

Praise for the incremental victories that have brought protections, rights and civil liberties to the vulnerable.

Praise for our relentless belief that justice will triumph—and for our will to make it so.

Have a participant open the door for Elijah. Pour a cup of wine into the additional wine glass. Raise the additional cup of wine and read:

Gathered around the Seder table, we ultimately pour four cups, remembering the gift of freedom that our ancestors received centuries ago. We delight in our liberation from Pharaoh’s oppression. We drink four cups for four promises fulfilled.

The first cup as God said, “I will free you from the labors of the Egyptians.”

The second as God said, “And I will deliver you from their bondage.”

The third as God said, “I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments.”

The fourth because God said, “I will take you to be My People.”

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We know, though, that all are not yet free. As we welcome Elijah the Prophet into our homes, we offer an additional cup, a cup not yet consumed. An additional cup for the more than 68 million refugees and displaced people around the world still waiting to be free – from the refugee camps in Chad to the cities and towns of Ukraine, for the Syrian refugees still waiting to be delivered from the hands of tyrants, for the thousands of asylum seekers in the United States still waiting in detention for redemption to come, for all those who yearn to be taken in not as strangers but as fellow human beings.

This Passover, let us walk in the footsteps of the One who delivered us from bondage. When we rise from our Seder tables, may we be emboldened to take action on behalf of the world’s refugees, hastening Elijah’s arrival as we speak out on behalf of those who are not yet free.

Place this additional cup of wine down untasted.

The story has always been told of a miraculous well of living water which has accompanied the Jewish people since the world was spoken into being. The well comes and goes as needed, and as we remember, forget, and remember again how to call it to us. 

In the time of exodus from Mitzrayim, the well came to Miriam, in honor of her courage and action, and stayed with the Jews as they wandered the desert. Upon Miriam's death the well again disapeared. 

With this ritual of Miriam's cup, we honor all Jewish women, transgender, intersex, and non-binary people whose histories have been erased. We commit ourselves to transforming all our cultures into loving welcoming spaces for people of all genders and sexes.

Tonight we remember Miriam and ask:

Who on our own journey has been a way-station for us?

Who has encouraged our thirst for knowledge?

To whom do we look as role models?

Who sings with joy at our accomplishments?

Fill Miriam's cup with water

ּבָ רּוְך אַ ּתָ ה יְיָ, אֱ ֹלהֵ ינּו מֶ לֶ ְך הָ עֹולָ ם, ּבֹורֵ א ּפְ רִ י הַ ּגָ פֶ ן.

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, borei peri hagafen.

Blessed are You, our God, Ruler of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.

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A Cup to the Future: 

To uprooting oppression and transforming all of our living cultures. We refuse to give up our voices, our histories, our blood to the pharaohs of the present day. We refuse to leave behind any of our people who do not look or desire or move or speak or believe the way we do. We refuse to be left behind ourselves.

We are powerful agents of change and and we are transforming our cultures to be so just, so free, so beautiful that we cannot even fully imagine them right now. Let us savor this taste of the freedom that is yet to come. Let us never lose our conviction that the world we dream of, the "world to come" is coming, right now, through each of us. 

At the beginning of the Passover Seder, we are commanded to consider ourselves as though we, too, had gone out from Egypt. At the end of the Seder  we say the words, “Next year in Jerusalem” to recognize that, just as redemption came for our ancestors, so, too, will redemption come for us in this generation. For those of us fortunate enough to have a roof over our heads, we may understand these words to mean that the parts of us that feel adrift will find steady footing. However, for the world’s more than 68 million displaced people and refugees, these words can be a literal message of hope that they will be able to rebuild their lives in a safe place.

Tonight, we honor the strength and resilience of refugees and asylum seekers across the globe. We commit ourselves to supporting them as they rebuild their lives and to championing their right for protection. Just as our own people now eat the bread of liberation, we pray that today’s refugees and asylum seekers will fulfill their dreams of rebuilding their lives in safety and freedom in the year to come.

Blessed are all those who yearn to be free.

Blessed are we who commit ourselves to their freedom.

Blessed are You, Adonai Our God, source of strength and liberation.

לָׁשָנ ַה הָּבָא ִּה ב ּ ירוָשָלִים

L’shana ha’ba’ah b’Yirushalayim!

Next year in Jerusalem!