In Jewish tradition, lighting candles and saying a blessing marks a time of transition, from the day that is ending to the one that is beginning, from ordinary time to sacred time. Tonight, we light the candles to mark our transition from ordinary days into the holy days of Passover.

Anyone who would like to light the candles, I invite you to come forward and do so now. Then, we will all say the blessing together:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו, וְצִוָּנוּ לְהַדְלִיק נֵר שֶׁל יוֹם טוֹב 

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Yom Tov.

Blessed are You, Eternal our God, Ruler of the Universe, Who has sanctified us with commandments and commanded us to light the festival lights.

As we light the candles, we acknowledge that as they brighten our Passover table, we too can brighten this space with good thoughts, good words, and good deeds.

As we begin tonight's seder, let’s take a moment to be thankful for being together. We make a small community of storytellers, and together we will retell the story of our exodus from Egypt. But why are we telling this story again? Most of us already know it. The answer is that we are not merely telling a story - we are being called to the act of empathy. We are told that "In every generation a person is obligated to see themselves as if they left Egypt" (Pesahim 10:5). This means that we should not only hear the story of the Exodus, but we should feel as though we too are being set free.

This is an odd Passover. Some of us had a virtual Seder last year, but this year we're half in person and half virtual. But we're doing our best and very grateful to all be together, whether in this physical room or this virtual room. So let's say the blessing for experiencing something for the first time. We invite you all to say the Shehecheyanu blessing together:

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.

We praise God, Ruler of Everything,
who has kept us alive, raised us up, and brought us to this happy moment.

Like a puzzle with a missing peice, we are not complete without each and every one of you. We welcome each one of you with open arms and hearts. Together we will create community through storytelling, singing, poems, discussion, memories, and many different family traditions.

Freedom is at the core of each of our stories. All who are in need, let them come celebrate Passover with us. Now we are here. Next year in the land of Israel. Next year everyone in person.

Summarized Excerpt from Rahel Musleah's Revolutionary Ideas to Explore at Your Seder

The Seder doesn’t just recall a one-time historical event, says Rabbi Jacobs. “The past is not something with a beginning and an end. In Judaism, the past imposes obligations for the present.” She contrasts the way she was educated about the Revolutionary War. “Growing up in Boston, I’d hear about the brave heroes of the American Revolution, but no one said, ‘Because you come from that tradition, you have a responsibility to be revolutionary.’ The idea that we as Jews are asked to feel as if we personally experienced the event of leaving Egypt is spread throughout Judaism. We recall it daily in our liturgy, and it’s the reason for many of our mitzvot. We're called to personally and constantly be internalizing the story's themes and insights.

The concept of the Passover Seder was developed by the rabbis of the Mishnah by the second century, but the first written Haggadah did not appear until the ninth century. The rabbis’ purpose was to get children to ask questions that would then elicit the story of the Exodus, retold as a dramatic first-person re-enactment according to each child’s ability to comprehend, with edible symbols as props in a multisensory experience incorporating eating, seeing, doing, acting and feeling. The Haggadah only offers bits of the story and sample questions; it assumes further unscripted dialogue will ensue personalizing and making each theme relevant.

According to Rabbi Ayelet Cohen, the most revolutionary aspect of the Haggadah is that it’s a collage of many different voices, a collection of stories from the Talmud and a compilation of biblical and liturgical quotations. The most common misunderstanding is that it’s just the story of the Exodus. One of the most damaging misconceptions in Jewish life is that there is one story, and that the stories of women’s experiences and those of others who are marginalized because of economics, physical ability, age, sexual orientation, or gender identity aren't relevant or necessary. The Haggadah teaches that there isn’t just one story, and our central obligation is to recognize the limitless applications for versions of the same story throughout our world and personal lives.

The Haggadah is about telling a story that’s literally revolutionary, that will help us figure out how to be more free.

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Adapted excerpt from: The Exodus: A Personal Coming Out, In Every Generation by Rabbi David Ingber

In our tradition leaving Egypt wasn’t an historical event alone. In our tradition, it was a personal and existential leaving as well.

"בְּכָל דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת עַצְמוֹ\עַצְמָהּ כְאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא\ה מִמִּצְרַיִם”

(In every generation a person must regard themselves as though they personally had gone out of Egypt)

Whenever we leave a narrow place, a place of constriction, painful servitude, a place where we are not authentically who we are, that leap taking, that transitioning, is an exodus. A freedom walk.

The tradition teaches us that rejecting something oppressive is not only acceptable, but it is something to admire, to strive for. We have an obligation in every generation to reflect on what holds us back and free ourselves.

What has been/is your personal Mitzrayim?

In what was have you been liberated throughout your life? Recently?

The Seder Plate

We place a Seder Plate at our table as a reminder to discuss certain aspects of the Passover story. Each item has its own significance.

Maror – The bitter herb. This symbolizes the harshness of lives of the Jews in Egypt.

Charoset – A delicious mix of sweet wine, apples, cinnamon and nuts that resembles the mortar used as bricks of the many buildings the Jewish slaves built in Egypt

Karpas – A green vegetable, usually parsley, is a reminder of the green sprouting up all around us during spring and is used to dip into the saltwater

Zeroah – A roasted lamb or shank bone symbolizing the sacrifice made at the great temple on Passover (The Paschal Lamb)

Beitzah – The egg symbolizes a different holiday offering that was brought to the temple. Since eggs are the first item offered to a mourner after a funeral, some say it also evokes a sense of mourning for the destruction of the temple.

Orange - The orange on the seder plate has come to symbolize full inclusion in modern day Judaism: not only for women, but also for people with disabilities, intermarried couples, and the LGBT Community.

Matzah

Matzah is the unleavened bread we eat to remember that when the jews fled Egypt, they didn’t even have time to let the dough rise on their bread. We commemorate this by removing all bread and bread products from our home during Passover.

Elijah’s Cup

The fifth ceremonial cup of wine poured during the Seder. It is left untouched in honor of Elijah, who, according to tradition, will arrive one day as an unknown guest to herald the advent of the Messiah. During the Seder dinner, biblical verses are read while the door is briefly opened to welcome Elijah. In this way the Seder dinner not only commemorates the historical redemption from Egyptian bondage of the Jewish people but also calls to mind their future redemption when Elijah and the Messiah shall appear.

Miriam’s Cup

Another relatively new Passover tradition is that of Miriam’s cup. The cup is filled with water and placed next to Elijah’s cup. Miriam was the sister of Moses and a prophetess in her own right. After the exodus when the Israelites are wandering through the desert, just as Hashem gave them Manna to eat, legend says that a well of water followed Miriam and it was called ‘Miriam’s Well’. The tradition of Miriam’s cup is meant to honor Miriam’s role in the story of the Jewish people and the spirit of all women, who nurture their families just as Miriam helped sustain the Israelites.

Adapted from Tikkun Ha-Lev Haggadah Insert by Rabbi Yael Levy

In the Passover story, we hear many times that Pharaoh’s heart was hardened and, despite Moses’ pleas and the ten plagues, he would not let the people go. Pharaoh’s hardened heart made it impossible for him to act with empathy, understanding or justice.

With all that is happening in our country and in the world, it is easy for us to fall into the habit of hardening our hearts. Anger, fear, frustration, disappointment, and despair can cause us to shut down and turn away. As we do, it becomes more difficult for us to respond to each other with patience, understanding, and compassion. With hardened hearts, we can’t fully appreciate life’s blessings or respond well to life’s challenges.

As we begin the Passover Seder, we set an intention to engage in  Tikkun HaLev, to soften our hearts in order to heal them. We do this for our own sake and for the sake of each other, to bring us back into connection with each other and the world.

With each cup of wine, we seek to soften and heal our hearts.

First Cup: Honoring Those Who Came Before Us

We lift the first cup of wine and remember those who are no longer with us. We remember family and friends whom we love and whose memory we cherish. And we remember people who have made a difference in our lives and in the world. 

May their lights continue to shine through us and may the words of our mouths, the love of our hearts, and the work of our hands honor their memory.

As we remember and honor those who came before us, we say:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה אַדָנָי אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעולָם בּורֵא פְּרִי הַגָּפֶן

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

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

Drink the first glass of wine!

Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba b’alma di-v’ra

chirutei, v’yamlich malchutei b’chayeichon

uvyomeichon uvchayei d’chol beit yisrael, ba’agala

uvizman kariv, v’im’ru: “amen.”

Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varach l’alam ul’almei almaya.

Yitbarach v’yishtabach, v’yitpa’ar v’yitromam

v’yitnaseh, v’yithadar v’yit’aleh v’yit’halal sh’mei

d’kud’sha, b’rich hu,

l’eila min-kol-birchata v’shirata, tushb’chata

v’nechemata da’amiran b’alma, v’im’ru: “amen.”

Y’hei shlama raba min-sh’maya v’chayim aleinu

v’al-kol-yisrael, v’im’ru: “amen.”

Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu

v’al kol-yisrael, v’imru: “amen.”

There are two points during the Seder when we wash our hands. This first washing is a symbolic and ritual washing, done by one person and with no blessing; later, we will all wash our hands and say a blessing as we prepare for the meal. So why do we wash our hands symbolically now, if we will wash them again before we eat?

It is Jewish tradition to wash our hands and say a blessing before we eat, so that our hands are physically clean when we begin our meal. This washing, however, is symbolic: because water is seen as refreshing and purifying, it is an opportunity to cleanse ourselves spiritually before we continue with our seder. This year, our handwashing holds even greater meaning because of the state of current events. We wash our hands to symbolically and physically cleanse ourselves, to protect others, and to display radical empathy.

Before we continue with our seder, share one thing in the chat function that you wish to leave behind as we enter Passover, so you may be fully present as we enter the holiday.

For now the winter is past,

   The rains are over and gone.

The blossoms have appeared in the land,

   The time of pruning has come;

The song of the turtle Is heard in our land.

   The green figs form on the fig tree,

The vines in blossom give off fragrance.

   Arise, my darling; My fair one, come away!

(The Song of Songs 2:11-13)

Salt is unique in that it is bitter on its own, yet sweetens and brings out the taste of that which it is added to. For this reason, salt is the staple of suffering.

There are two perspectives of suffering – Purposeless Suffering and Purposeful Suffering.

Purposeless Suffering is suffering without reason, value, or an end-goal, and is therefore completely bitter. It is based on a keyhole view of life: “What is right in front of my eyes is all there is and there is no grander scheme.”

We squint in order to focus on something in the distance.

The Kabbalists explain that for this reason, the reaction of a person in pain is to close his eyes, since physical eyes don't see the spiritual purpose. Just as a person squints, which is a partial closing of one's eyes in order to focus on something in the physical distance, one may close his eyes completely in order to focus on something in the "spiritual distance.”

Purposeful Suffering is sweetened by understanding the greater context – that all is from God and for the best.

At the Seder, we dip the Karpas into saltwater in order to embody the concept of Purposeful Suffering – that we view any suffering in life as a surgery for our ultimate betterment rather than meaningless torture. (Additionally, we dip Karpas into salt water to represent the tears cried by the Jewish people while enslaved under Egyptian rule.)

We see these two sides of salt expressed by the Dead Sea. Due to its high salt concentration, the Dead Sea contains no life within it, yet has an incredible capacity to heal. On its own, the Dead Sea is "bitter," but when a person dips into the Dead Sea, he is "sweetened."

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא פְּרִי הָאֲדָמָה

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

We praise God, Ruler of Everything, who creates the fruits of the earth.

We also dip Karpas to help us remember the sweetness of life. How the universe  works in cycles and the spring will always come back around providing us with new life. 

Adapted from the JewishBoston and VBS Haggadot

There are three pieces of matzah stacked on the table. We now break the middle matzah into two pieces. The host should wrap up
the larger of the pieces and, at some point between now and the end of dinner, hide it. This piece is called the afikoman, literally
“dessert” in Greek. After dinner, the guests will have to hunt for the afikoman in order to wrap up the meal…and win a prize.
We eat matzah in memory of the quick flight of our ancestors from captivity. As slaves, they had faced many false starts before finally
being let go. So when the word of their freedom came, they took whatever dough they had and ran with it before it had the chance
to rise, leaving it looking something like matzah.

As we go through the seder, the matzah will be transformed. It will cease to be the bread of affliction and it will become the bread of hope, courage, faith and possibility.

And it begins with a breaking.

We are free, but we remember when we were slaves. We are whole, but we bring to mind those who are broken. The middle matzah is broken, but it is the larger part which is hidden. Because the future will be greater than the past, and tomorrow’s Passover nobler than yesterday’s exodus. The prospects for the dreamed future are overwhelming to the point of making us mute. So it is in silence, without blessing, that we break and hide the matzah and long for its recovery and our redemption. 

The formal telling of the story of Passover is framed as a discussion with lots of questions and answers. The rabbis who created the set format for the seder gave us the Four Questions to help break the ice in case no one had their own questions. Asking questions is a core tradition in Jewish life. Traditionally, the youngest person at the seder reads the four questions.

מַה נִּשְׁתַּנָּה הַלַּֽיְלָה הַזֶּה מִכָּל הַלֵּילות

Ma nishtana halaila hazeh mikol haleilot?

Why is this night different from all other nights?

שֶׁבְּכָל הַלֵּילוֹת אָֽנוּ אוֹכלין חָמֵץ וּמַצָּה  הַלַּֽיְלָה הַזֶּה כֻּלּוֹ מצה  

Shebichol haleilot anu ochlin chameitz u-matzah. Halaila hazeh kulo matzah.

On all other nights we eat both leavened bread and matzah. Tonight we only eat matzah.

שֶׁבְּכָל הַלֵּילוֹת אָֽנוּ אוֹכְלִין שְׁאָר יְרָקוֹת הַלַּֽיְלָה הַזֶּה מָרוֹר

Shebichol haleilot anu ochlin shi’ar yirakot haleila hazeh maror.

On all other nights we eat all kinds of vegetables, but tonight we eat bitter herbs.

שֶׁבְּכָל הַלֵּילוֹת אֵין אָֽנוּ מַטְבִּילִין אֲפִילוּ פַּֽעַם אחָת  הַלַּֽיְלָה הַזֶּה שְׁתֵּי פְעמים

Shebichol haleilot ain anu matbilin afilu pa-am echat. Halaila hazeh shtei fi-amim.

On all other nights we aren’t expected to dip our vegetables one time. Tonight we do it twice.

שֶׁבְּכָל הַלֵּילוֹת אָֽנוּ אוֹכְלִין בֵּין יוֹשְׁבִין וּבֵין מְסֻבִּין.  :הַלַּֽיְלָה הַזֶּה כֻּלָּֽנוּ מְסֻבין

Shebichol haleilot anu ochlin bein yoshvin uvein m’subin. Halaila hazeh kulanu m’subin.

On all other nights we eat either sitting normally or reclining. Tonight we recline.

What questions do you have about Passover and/or tonight's seder?

Can we be humble enough to admit when we do not know something, rather than pretending to have the answer? Can we be gracious enough to answer another’s question without shaming them for not knowing? Can we be brave enough to inquire within, and ask ourselves our own hard questions? Can we open our hearts to the love that wants to come in, if only we will release our clever defenses?

As we tell the story, we think about it from all angles. Our tradition speaks of four different types of children who might react differently to the Passover seder. It is our job to make our story accessible to all the members of our community, so we think about how we might best reach each type of child.

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Excerpt from “A Psychology of Spiritual Development,” by clinical psychologist, Mark Banschick M.D. (Adapted slightly by Shoshana.)

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The Son Who Doesn’t Know How to Ask

The son who doesn't know to ask is the person who is uninterested in exploring the story of the Israelites and their liberation. He assumes there isn’t anything that would be of importance to him and asking a question about spiritual matters is beyond him. This person may be an infant, a child, an individual who hasn’t had exposure to a meaningful religious life, or an adult who has given up caring. 
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The Tam - The Simple Son

The simple son—the Tam—is the committed, but simple Jew. He asks his father what needs to be done and his father tells him just as it is. From a developmental point of view, this is a sincere, but simple spirituality: “Tell me what God wants, and I will comply.” The simple son represents the spirituality of a young person or an adult individual who tends toward a dependent posture in relation to authority. The Tam may be a “good” boy, but is he free? 

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The Chacham - The Wise Son

The wise son represents an advanced stage of spiritual development. In this stage, the Tam develops into a person who has struggled with his connection, has perhaps rejected or confronted part or all of his relationship with Judaism, and has returned to freely embrace the tradition from a more mature point of view. The Chacham says, “I want to know what is required of me, in detail, because it’s of personal importance, and I already understand why this is important to me.” He thinks, “I have been around the block and have asked many questions. I feel secure in my wish to embrace my connection to my tradition.”

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The Rasha - The Wicked Son

The Wicked son is the step the Simple Son takes before becoming the Wise Son. The Rasha is a form of differentiation. He is the son—the character in the play—who separates to analyze from a 3rd person viewpoint, in essence, “I’m not part of this—I need to consider whether this is for me or not.” Differentiation is a well-known process in human development, common in teens, but important for adults as well. It’s the edge that helps us to mature. In spiritual development, differentiation is a critical component to a connection embraced freely—and not just by habit or necessity.

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When have you, at different stages of your life, been like each of these children?

In what topics might you currently be like the simple or wicked child? The one who doesn't know to ask? 

When we feel like we are like the wise child, how do you interact with others who are wicked, simple, or do not know to ask?

Around our tables sit four daughters.

Wise Daughter

The Wise daughter understands that not everything is as it appears.

She is the one who speaks up, confident that her opinion counts. She is the one who can take the tradition and ritual that is placed before her, turn it over and over, and find personal meaning in it. She is the one who can find the secrets in the empty spaces between the letters of the Torah.

She is the one who claims a place for herself even if the men do not make room for her.

Some call her wise and accepting. We call her creative and assertive. We welcome creativity and assertiveness to sit with us at our tables and inspire us to act.

Wicked Daughter

The Wicked daughter is the one who dares to challenge the simplistic answers she has been given.

She is the one who asks too many questions. She is the one not content to remain in her prescribed place. She is the one who breaks the mold. She is the one who challenges the status quo.

Some call her wicked and rebellious. We call her daring and courageous. We welcome rebellion to sit with us at our tables and make us uneasy.

Simple Daughter

The Simple daughter is the one who accepts what she is given without asking for more.

She is the one who trusts easily and believes what she is told. She is the one who prefers waiting and watching over seeking and acting. She is the one who believes that the redemption from Egypt was the final act of freedom. She is the one who follows in the footsteps of others.

Some call her simple and naive. We call her the one whose eyes are yet to be opened. We welcome the contented one to sit with us at our tables and appreciate what will is still to come.

Daughter Who Does Not Know How to Ask

Last is the daughter who does not know how to ask.

She is one who obeys and does not question. She is the one who has accepted men's definitions of the world. She is the one who has not found her own voice. She is the one who is content to be invisible.

Some call her subservient and oppressed. We call her our sister. We welcome the silent one to sit with us at our tables and experience a community that welcomes the voices of women.

(Used with permission of the Temple Emunah Women's Seder Haggadah Design Committee)

We are told that every person should see him/herself as having personally left Egypt. How can we fulfill this obligation of radical empathy?

The Hebrew word for Egypt, Mitzrayim, literally translates to "from narrow places." It implies this image of a restrained or confined space. We might not have personal memories of enslavement in Egypt, but we all have experiences with feeling restrained or confined. We can channel those emotions to bring ourselves closer to the story. But more than that, we also must channel the mindfulness necessary to take ourselves out of these narrow places and free ourselves.

As we read the story of the exodus, I invite you to reflect on the following question: What is something holding you back now, and how might you be able to free yourself?

Adapted from the Horowitzes' Haggadah

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1. Our story starts in ancient times, with Abraham, the first person to believe in one God. God made a promise to Abraham that his family would become a great nation, but this promise came with a frightening vision of the troubles along the way: “Your descendants will dwell for a time in a land that is not their own, and they will be enslaved and afflicted for four hundred years; however, I will punish the nation that enslaved them, and afterwards they shall leave with great wealth."

Raise the glass of wine and say:

וְהִיא שֶׁעָמְדָה לַאֲבוֹתֵֽינוּ וְלָֽנוּ

V’hi she-amda l’avoteinu v’lanu.

This promise has sustained our ancestors and us.

For not only one enemy has risen against us to annihilate us, but in every generation there are those who rise against us. But God saves us from those who seek to harm us.

The glass of wine is put down.

2. Generations later, our people went into   galut, exile, in the land of Egypt. During a famine, our forefather Jacob and his family fled to Egypt where food was plentiful. Through a complicated set of plot twists, his son Joseph had risen to high position in Pharaoh's court, and our people were well-respected and well-regarded, secure in the power structure of the time.

3. In fear of rebellion, Pharaoh decreed that all Hebrew boy-children be killed. Two midwives named Shifrah and Puah defied his orders, claiming that "the Hebrew women are so hardy, they give birth before we arrive!" Through their courage, a boy survived.

Fearing for his safety, his family placed him in a basket and he floated down the Nile. He was found and adopted by Pharaoh's daughter, who named him Moshe because   min ha-mayim m'shitihu, from the water she drew him forth. She hired his mother Yocheved as his wet-nurse. Thus he survived to adulthood and was raised as Prince of Egypt.

4. Although a child of privilege, as he grew he became aware of the slaves who worked in the brickyards of his father. When he saw an overseer mistreat a slave, he struck the overseer and killed him. Fearing retribution, he set out across Sinai alone. 

God spoke to him from a burning bush, which though it flamed was not consumed. The Voice called him to lead the Hebrew people to freedom. Moses argued with God, pleading inadequacy, but God disagreed. Sometimes our responsibilities choose us. 

5. Moses returned to Egypt and went to Pharaoh to argue the injustice of slavery. He gave Pharaoh a mandate which resounds through history: Let my people go.

Pharaoh refused, and Moses warned him that Mighty God would strike the Egyptian people. These threats were not idle: ten terrible plagues were unleashed upon the Egyptians. Only when his nation lay in ruins did Pharaoh agree to our liberation.

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? 

6. Fearful that Pharaoh would change his mind, our people fled, not waiting for their bread dough to rise. (For this reason we eat unleavened bread as we take part in their journey.) Our people did not leave Egypt alone; a "mixed multitude" went with them.  From this we learn that liberation is not for us alone, but for all the nations of the earth.

Even Pharaoh's daughter came with us, and traded her old title (  bat-Pharaoh,  daughter of Pharaoh) for the name Batya, "daughter of God."

Pharaoh's army followed us to the Sea of Reeds. We plunged into the waters. Only when we had gone as far as we could did the waters part for us. We mourn, even now, that Pharaoh's army drowned: our liberation is bittersweet because people died in our pursuit. 

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7. To this day we relive our liberation, that we may not become complacent, that we may always rejoice in our freedom. 

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Excerpt from Why did we sing when the Egyptians drowned?

From the JC

Our traditional commentaries were sensitive to the ethics of the event. On seeing the drowning Egyptians the angels were about to break into song when God silenced them declaring, “How dare you sing for joy when My creatures are dying” (Talmud, Megillah 10b and Sanhedrin 39b). But if God stopped the angels from singing, why were our ancestors allowed? Maybe because they needed to give voice to the huge relief of finally being redeemed.

On the other hand, the Talmud also teaches that our personal elation should never make us forget the misfortunes afflicting others (Berachot 31a). The medieval commentary of Tosafot gives this as the source for the custom of breaking a glass at the end of a wedding ceremony. And that is why we spill out drops of wine on Seder night, to remind us that our cup of deliverance and celebration cannot be full when others have to suffer.

The  Midrash and  Talmud share the following account:

Seven days after leaving Egypt, the  Israelites found themselves trapped between a raging sea and the vengeful Egyptian army. Then  G‑d gave Moses a command that seemed impossible to fulfill: “Speak to the people of Israel; they shall travel.”

 As Israel stood facing the Sea of Reeds, and the command was given to move forward, each of the tribes hesitated, saying, “We do not want to be the first to jump into the sea.” The Children of Israel cried to Moses, who in turn pleaded with G-d on their behalf. The response? A command: “Go! Move forward!” One man, Nachshon Ben Aminadav from the tribe of Judah, took heed of G-d’s call and jumped into the sea. 

Moses was standing and praying. G‑d said to him, “My beloved ones are drowning in the stormy seas, and you are standing and praying?”

Moses replied, “Master of the world, what am I to do?”

Said G‑d, “You lift your staff and spread your hand over the seas, which will split, and Israel will come into the sea upon dry land.”

And so it was. Following Nachshon’s lead, the Israelites entered the sea and were saved.

The lesson for all of us is that we must stay focused on our life’s mission and not let obstacles cause us to panic or hesitate. Is there something you know you should dive into but have been waiting for someone or something to give you a special invitation? 

On this night of the Seder we remember with reverence and love the six millions of our people of the European exile who perished at the hands of a tyrant more wicked than the Pharaoh who enslaved our fathers in Egypt.  Come, said he to his minions, let us cut them off from being a people, that the name of Israel may be remembered no more. And they slew the blameless and pure, men and women and little ones, with vapors of poison and burned them with fire.  But we abstain from dwelling on the deeds of the evil ones lest we defame the image of G-d in which man was created.

Now, the remnants of our people who were left in the ghettos and camps of annihilation rose up against the wicked ones for the sanctification of the Name, and slew many of them before they died.

On the first day of Passover the remnants in the Ghetto of Warsaw rose up against the adversary, even as in the days of Judah the Maccabee.  They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided, and they brought redemption to the name of Israel through all the world.

And from the depths of their affliction the martyrs lifted their voices in a song of faith in the coming of the Messiah, when justice and brotherhood will reign among men.

The plagues and our subsequent redemption from Egypt are but one example of the care God has shown for us in our history. Had God but done any one of these kindnesses, it would have been enough – dayeinu.

אִלּוּ הוֹצִיאָֽנוּ מִמִּצְרַֽיִם, דַּיֵּנוּ

Ilu hotzi- hotzianu, Hotzianu mi-mitzrayim Hotzianu mi-mitzrayim, Dayeinu

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

אִלּוּ נָתַן לָֽנוּ אֶת־הַתּוֹרָה, דַּיֵּנוּ

Ilu natan natan lanu, natan lanu et ha-Torah, Natan lanu et ha-Torah , Dayeinu

If God had only given us the Torah, that would have been enough.

 The complete lyrics to Dayeinu tell the entire story of the Exodus from Egypt as a series of miracles God performed for us. (See the Additional Readings if you want to read or sing them all.)

Dayeinu also reminds us that each of our lives is the cumulative result of many blessings, small and large. 

Adapted from A Dayeinu for Our Time by Rabbi Michael Strassfeld

If I can’t get together with my friends but I can see and talk to them by Zoom— dayeinu ; it would be enough.

If I am stuck in my home for days that turn into weeks but at least I have a home unlike too many others— dayeinu ; it would be enough.

If I was isolated and my loved ones couldn’t come to my room, I would cry but be assured of their love— dayeinu ; it would have to be enough.

Adapted from Tikkun Ha-Lev Haggadah Insert by Rabbi Yael Levy

Second Cup: Acknowledging the Challenges of this Time

Each day’s news brings more information that can intensify our feelings of rage, fear and despair. We take a moment to acknowledge something in this country or the world that is of deep concern to us. Instead of anger or fear, we turn toward compassion and connection by “praying with the news.”

As we lift the second cup, we reflect on what concerns us and say a prayer for the people involved. We pray for those who are being hurt. We say a prayer for the strength of those on the front lines - including the doctors, nurses, grocery store clerks, and others putting their own health on the line for the greater good. We pray for a healthier world. We soften our hearts by encouraging our own and each other’s empathy, connection and care.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא פְּרִי הַגָּפֶן

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

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

Drink the second glass of wine!

As we now transition from the formal telling of the Passover story to the celebratory meal, we once again wash our hands to prepare ourselves. As we remember from our symbolic washing, pouring water over the hands has an enormous symbolic significance. Hands are our tools for manipulating the world. To mark the transition from telling the Passover story to  the meal, we ritually wash our hands to create an aura of sanctity; we clean our tools for interacting with the world, that will engage us in something beautiful.

We encourage you to take this time to wash your hands, and invite you to say either the traditional handwashing blessing or to use this blessing for washing your hands during a pandemic, by Trisha Arlin: 

As we wash our hands
We pray,
Blessed is the Soul of the Universe,
Breathing us in and breathing us out.
May our breaths continue
And our health and the health of all
Be preserved
In this time of sickness and fear of sickness.
Holy Wholeness,
We take as much responsibility for this as we can
By observing the obligation to wash our hands
Thoroughly:
For as long as it takes to say this prayer.
Amen

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה הָ׳ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ עַל נְטִילַת יָדַיִם

Barukh atah adonai eloheinu melekh ha-olam asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu al netilat yadayim

Blessed are you, our God, ruler of the universe, who sanctified us with God's commandments and instructed us on washing hands.

The blessing over the meal and matzah | motzi matzah | מוֹצִיא מַצָּה

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.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ מֶֽלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, הַמּוֹצִיא לֶֽחֶם מִן הָאָֽרֶץ

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

We praise God, Ruler of Everything, 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.

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

Distribute and eat the top and middle matzah for everyone to eat.

Dipping the bitter herb in sweet charoset | maror  |מָרוֹר   

  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. We don’t totally eradicate the taste of the bitter with the taste of the sweet… but doesn’t the sweet mean more when it’s layered over the bitterness?

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, 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, Ruler of Everything, who made us holy through obligations, commanding us to eat bitter herbs.

The great sage Hillel provided us with the tradition of constructing the Hillel sandwich, combining the bitterness of the maror with the sweetness of the charoset between the fortitude of the two pieces of matzah - the symbol of freedom. Through this ritual, we think about mortar and brick. We think of the Israelites traveling through the desert with no homes, no place to land and build up their strong communities, and only the matzah as a reminder of their freedom. It is not until they came to the bibilical Promised Land that they experienced the sweetness of their redemption.

Eating the meal! | shulchan oreich | שֻׁלְחָן עוֹרֵךְ

Enjoy! But don’t forget when you’re done we’ve got a little more seder to go, including the final two cups of wine!

Finding and eating the Afikomen | tzafoon | צָפוּן

The playfulness of finding the afikomen reminds us that we balance our solemn memories of slavery with a joyous celebration of freedom. As we eat the afikomen, our last taste of matzah for the evening, we are grateful for moments of silliness and happiness in our lives.

Adapted from Tikkun Ha-Lev Haggadah Insert by Rabbi Yael Levy

Third Cup: Gratitude

We lift the third cup and give thanks for the blessings in our lives. We give thanks for the people whom we love and who love us. We give thanks for the gifts we receive and are able to give. We give thanks for the bounty we enjoy and the opportunities we have. As we raise the third cup, we share gratitude -- and that opens our awareness, brings joy and softens the heart. 

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה אַדָנָי אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעולָם בּורֵא פְּרִי הַגָּפֶן

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

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

Drink the third glass of wine!

We now say grace after the meal, thanking God for the food we’ve eaten. On Passover, this becomes something like an extended toast to God, culminating with drinking our third glass of wine for the evening:

We praise God, Ruler of Everything, whose goodness sustains the world. You are the origin of love and compassion, the source of bread for all. Thanks to You, we do not lack food; You provide food enough for everyone. We praise God, source of food for everyone.

As it says in the Torah: When you have eaten and are satisfied, give praise to your God who has given you this good earth. We praise God for the earth and for its sustenance.

Renew our spiritual center in our time. We praise God, who centers us.

May the source of peace grant peace to us, to the Jewish people, and to the entire world. Amen.

It is customary to fill a cup of wine for Elijah the Prophet, and open our door to welcome him to our Passover seder. Tradition holds that he will return in advance of messianic days to herald a new era of peace, so we set a place for Elijah at many joyous, hopeful Jewish occasions, such as a baby’s bris and the Passover seder.

At our seder, we have two cups in the center - one for Elijah, and one for Moses's sister Miriam. It is said that a well followed the Jews as they wandered through the desert until the time of Miriam's death, a gift from God for her optimism. Miriam's cup is filled with water to honor her, as well as the often overlooked contributions of other women in the Torah and Jewish history.

As we open the door for Elijah, we sing together:

אֵלִיָּֽהוּ הַנָּבִיא, אֵלִיָּֽהוּ הַתִּשְׁבִּי,

אֵלִיָּֽהוּ, אֵלִיָּֽהוּ,אֵלִיָּֽהוּ הַגִּלְעָדִי.

בִּמְהֵרָה בְיָמֵֽנוּ יָבוֹא אֵלֵֽינוּ

עִם מָשִֽׁיחַ בֶּן דָּוִד, 

עִם מָשִֽׁיחַ בֶּן דָּוִד.

Eliyahu hanavi Eliyahu hatishbi Eliyahu, Eliyahu, Eliyahu hagiladi Bimheirah b’yameinu, yavo eileinu Im mashiach ben-David, Im mashiach ben-David

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

Adapted from Tikkun Ha-Lev Haggadah Insert by Rabbi Yael Levy

Rather than focusing on us as individuals, as we fill our final glass of wine tonight, let’s think about how we can symbolically fill up others' glasses. We recognize that, as a family and group of friends, we have the resources to help each other and those in our community if we are willing to share our resources and collaborate – whether those resources are time, money, skills, or any of the other gifts we bring to one another.

Fourth Cup: Goodness

There is so much good in the world. There are so many people acting every day with care and devotion for the benefit of each other and the earth. As we lift the fourth cup, we share stories of goodness. We share acts of kindness we have witnessed. We relate instances of people coming together for justice. We share inspiring moments and encounters that bring us strength and hope. 

May our hearts be strong and filled with courage.

May we guide each other into the expanse of hope and possibility.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ, אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא פְּרִי הַגָּפֶן

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

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

Drink the fourth glass of wine!

Adapted from JewishBoston

Nirtzah  marks the conclusion of the seder. Our bellies are full, we have had several glasses of wine, we have told stories and sung songs, and now it is time for the evening to come to a close. At the end of the seder, we honor the tradition of declaring, “Next year in Jerusalem!”

For some people, the recitation of this phrase expresses the anticipation of rebuilding the Temple in Jerusalem and the return of the Messiah. For others, it is an affirmation of hope and of connectedness with   Klal Yisrael, the whole of the Jewish community. Still others yearn for peace in Israel and for all those living in the Diaspora.

Though it comes at the end of the seder, this moment also marks a beginning. We are beginning the next season with a renewed awareness of the freedoms we enjoy and the obstacles we must still confront. We are looking forward to the time that we gather together again. Having retold stories of the Jewish people, recalled historic movements of liberation, and reflected on the struggles people still face for freedom and equality, we are ready to embark on a year that we hope will bring positive change in the world and freedom to people everywhere.

In   The Leader's Guide to the Family Participation Haggadah: A Different Night, Rabbi David Hartman writes: “Passover is the night for reckless dreams; for visions about what a human being can be, what society can be, what people can be, what history may become.”

What can   we   do to fulfill our reckless dreams? What will be our legacy for future generations?

Our seder is over, according to Jewish tradition and law. As we had the pleasure to gather for a seder this year, we hope to once again have the opportunity in the years to come. We pray that God brings health and healing to Israel and all the people of the world, especially those impacted by natural tragedy and war. As we say…

לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בִּירוּשָׁלָֽיִם

L’shana haba-ah biy’rushalayim

NEXT YEAR IN JERUSALEM!

This year we also add:

לשנה הבאה ביחד

L'shana haba-ah bi'yachad

NEXT YEAR TOGETHER!

Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

One little goat, one little goat, that my father bought for two zuzim.  Chad gadya, Chad gadya.

Then came a cat and ate the goat, that my father bought for two zuzim.  Chad gadya, Chad gadya.

Then came a dog and bit the cat, that ate the goat, that my 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 my 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 my 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 my 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 my father bought for two zuzim.  Chad gadya, Chad gadya.

Then came the butcher 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 my father bought for two zuzim.  Chad gadya, Chad gadya.

Then came the Angel of Death and killed the butcher, 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 my 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 butcher, 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 my father bought for two zuzim.  Chad gadya, Chad gadya.

Echad Mi Yode'a  - אֶחָד מִי יוֹדֵעַ 

Who knows one? I know one:                                                      : אֶחָד מִי יוֹדֵעַ? אֶחָד אֲנִי יוֹדֵעַ

Echad mi yode'a? Echad ani yode'a:

אַדִּיר הוּא יִבְנֶה בֵּיתוֹ בְּקָרוֹב. 
בִּמְהֵרָה,בִּמְהֵרָה, בְּיָמֵינוּ בְּקָרוֹב. 
אֵל בְּנֵה, אֵל בְּנֵה, בְּנֵה בֵּיתְךָ בְּקָרוֹב. 

בָּחוּר הוּא, גָּדוֹל הוּא, דָּגוּל הוּא יִבְנֶה בֵּיתוֹ בְּקָרוֹב.
בִּמְהֵרָה,בִּמְהֵרָה, בְּיָמֵינוּ בְּקָרוֹב. 
אֵל בְּנֵה, אֵל בְּנֵה, בְּנֵה בֵּיתְךָ בְּקָרוֹב. 

הָדוּר הוּא, וָתִיק הוּא, זַכַּאי הוּא יִבְנֶה בֵּיתוֹ בְּקָרוֹב. 
בִּמְהֵרָה,בִּמְהֵרָה, בְּיָמֵינוּ בְּקָרוֹב. 
אֵל בְּנֵה, אֵל בְּנֵה, בְּנֵה בֵּיתְךָ בְּקָרוֹב. 

חָסִיד הוּא, טָהוֹר הוּא, יָחִיד הוּא יִבְנֶה בֵּיתוֹ בְּקָרוֹב. 
בִּמְהֵרָה,בִּמְהֵרָה, בְּיָמֵינוּ בְּקָרוֹב. 
אֵל בְּנֵה, אֵל בְּנֵה, בְּנֵה בֵּיתְךָ בְּקָרוֹב. 

כַּבִּיר הוּא, לָמוּד הוּא, מֶלֶךְ הוּא יִבְנֶה בֵּיתוֹ בְּקָרוֹב.
בִּמְהֵרָה,בִּמְהֵרָה, בְּיָמֵינוּ בְּקָרוֹב. 
אֵל בְּנֵה, אֵל בְּנֵה, בְּנֵה בֵּיתְךָ בְּקָרוֹב. 

נוֹרָא הוּא, סַגִּיב הוּא, עִזּוּז הוּא יִבְנֶה בֵּיתוֹ בְּקָרוֹב.
בִּמְהֵרָה,בִּמְהֵרָה, בְּיָמֵינוּ בְּקָרוֹב. 
אֵל בְּנֵה, אֵל בְּנֵה, בְּנֵה בֵּיתְךָ בְּקָרוֹב. 

פּוֹדֶה הוּא, צַדִיק הוּא, קָּדוֹשׁ הוּא יִבְנֶה בֵּיתוֹ בְּקָרוֹב. 
בִּמְהֵרָה,בִּמְהֵרָה, בְּיָמֵינוּ בְּקָרוֹב. 
אֵל בְּנֵה, אֵל בְּנֵה, בְּנֵה בֵּיתְךָ בְּקָרוֹב. 

רַחוּם הוּא, שַׁדַּי הוּא, תַּקִּיף הוּא יִבְנֶה בֵּיתוֹ בְּקָרוֹב. 
בִּמְהֵרָה,בִּמְהֵרָה, בְּיָמֵינוּ בְּקָרוֹב. 
אֵל בְּנֵה, אֵל בְּנֵה, בְּנֵה בֵּיתְךָ בְּקָרוֹב.

Adir hu yivneh beito bekarov. 
Bimherah, bimherah, beyameinu bekarov. 
El bneh, el bneh, bneh beito bekarov. 

Bachur hu, gadol hu, dagul hu yivneh beito bekarov. 
Bimherah, bimherah, beyameinu bekarov. 
El bneh, el bneh, bneh beito bekarov. 

Hadur hu, vatik hu, zakai hu yivneh beito bekarov. 
Bimherah, bimherah, beyameinu bekarov. 
El bneh, el bneh, bneh beito bekarov. 

Chassid hu, tahor hu, yachid hu yivneh beito bekarov. 
Bimherah, bimherah, beyameinu bekarov. 
El bneh, el bneh, bneh beito bekarov. 

Kabir hu, lamud hu, melech hu yivneh beito bekarov. 
Bimherah, bimherah, beyameinu bekarov. 
El bneh, el bneh, bneh beito bekarov. 

Norah hu, sagiv hu, izuz hu yivneh beito bekarov. 
Bimherah, bimherah, beyameinu bekarov. 
El bneh, el bneh, bneh beito bekarov. 

Podeh hu, tzaddik hu, kadosh hu yivneh beito bekarov. 
Bimherah, bimherah, beyameinu bekarov. 
El bneh, el bneh, bneh beito bekarov. 

Rachum hu, shadai hu, takif hu yivneh beito bekarov. 
Bimherah, bimherah, beyameinu bekarov. 
El bneh, el bneh, bneh beito bekarov.

Translation: (By Eve Levavi) He is mighty. May He rebuild His temple soon! Speedily, speedily, in our days, soon! God, build! God, build! Rebuild Your temple soon! He is select. He is great. He is lofty. He is glorious. He is just. He is blameless. He is righteous. He is pure. He is singular. He is powerful. He is learned. He is Sovereign. He is radiant. He is strong. He is valorous. He is salvific. He is just. He is holy. He is merciful. He is God. He is commanding.

Miriam's Song

Chorus

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 strand and every thread she crafted her delight
A woman touched with spirit, she dances toward the light

Chorus

When 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

Chorus

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 in song
She sang with praise and might
We've just lived through a miracle 
We're going to dance tonight

Songwriters: Debbie Friedman