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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Traditionally, we Jews light candles to transition from the day-to-day into the sacred. We honor this tradition with the power of the flame, and take it to a new place by bringing in sacred plant ritual. We lambs and lions will light sage to connect us to the land we now live on, in our current exile. We let the sacred smoke do its work to clear away past traumas, preconceived ideas, and insecurities related to Jewish ritual experience. We can be brand new!
We bless this moment by saying:
Thank you Infinite, for the opportunity to have awe and enter into a new experience that is ancient.
(1) Kiddush, sanctifying the holiday (2) Maggid, the storytelling (3) Birkat HaMazon, completing the Pesach meal; and (4) Hallel, completing the festival Psalms.
The Talmud connects the Four Cups to God's Four Promises to Israel: "Tell the children of Israel: I am Adonai! I will take them out... I will rescue them… I will redeem them… and I will marry them taking them as my people and I will be their God" (Exodus 6:6-7, Jerusalem Talmud Pesachim 10:1).
However, two 16th C. mystic rabbis identify the Four Cups with the Four Matriarchs of Israel. The Maharal of Prague (famous for the legend of Golem) and Rav Isaiah Horowitz of Tsfat explain:
(1) The Cup of Kiddush stands for Sarah who was the mother of a community of converts, believers by choice.
(2) The Cup of Maggid is for Rebecca who knew how to mother both Esav and Jacob, two opposed natures.
(3) The Cup of the Blessing after Eating represents Rachel whose son Joseph provided the whole family of Jacob with bread in a time of great famine.
(4) The Cup of Hallel (Praise) is for Leah who came to realize that the pursuit of the impossible, Jacob's love, must give way to appreciation of what one has. When her fourth child was born, Judah, she praised God: " This time I will thank God " (Genesis 29:35).
Queerness has been identified as impure or dirty by so many. "Purification", then, might be used to mean erasing the so-called "flaws" that make us who we are. Instead of focusing on purification in this ritual, then, I invite us to think of the water as helping us focus on the aspects of ourselves that we want to nourish and pay attention to. Waves help bring things that have sunk to the ocean floor up to the surface--let this ritual handwashing bring the true and beautiful parts of you that stay hidden to the surface.
There should be a bowl of water, a cup, and a towel near your table. Pour water, using the cup, over your neighbor's hands, helping them to wash.
During this time, feel free to share with each other what you want the water to help nourish and bring to the surface.
To those unfamiliar with the terrain, the desert can seem like a harsh and empty place. Indeed, the desert of the Passover story is devoid of sustenance and life. At this point in the Seder, it is tradition to reflect on liberation and rebirth as connected ideas. To symbolize rebirth, we take a vegetable, like parsley, and dip it into salt water, which represents the tears shed by our Jewish ancestors when they were enslaved. Mixing the sweet and the bitter remind us that in times of joy, it is important to remember where we came from. Similarly, as we embark on this Seder, with the promise of a nourishing meal ahead, we take a moment to reflect on those going without food as they seek a better life. Though the Jewish people may have left Egypt, many people around the world are still waiting to be freed.
We recite this short blessing, then dip our parsley.
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.
Written by Justine Orlovsky-Schnitzler
This is the bread of affliction, the poor bread,
which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.
Let all who are hungry come and eat.
Let all who are in want, share the hope of Passover.
As we celebrate here, we join with our people everywhere.
This year we celebrate here.
Next year in the land of Israel.
Now we are still in bonds.
Next year may we all be free.
But why is there an orange and a tomato on the seder plate? This is not traditional for Passover.
Tomato - This tomato brings our attention to the oppression and liberation of farmworkers who harvest fruits and vegetables here in the United States. And it reminds of us of our power to help create justice. On this night when we remember the Jewish journey from slavery to freedom, we remember numerous cases of modern slavery that exist. For example, the reported use of enslaved labor in Florida's tomato industry. There have been reports of workers also facing abusive working conditions, such as wage theft, harassment, exposure to dangerous pesticides, or poverty level wages that have not changed for more than 30 years.
But a transformation is underway. Since 1993, the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, a farmworker organization, has been organizing for justice in the fields. Together with other organizations, they have convinced 11 major corporations, such as McDonald’s and Trader Joe’s, to join the Fair Food Program, a historic partnership between workers, growers and corporations. We can work to help convince other businesses to join this program.
Orange - The orange on the Seder plate has come to symbolize full inclusion in modern day Judaism for those who were traditionally not seen as full participants or leaders in Jewish life and traditions, especially women and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) people. The common tale was that a man once said that women don’t belong leading aspects of worship in Judaism by saying “A woman on the bimah is like an orange on the Seder plate.” (The bimah is a podium where people stand to read from the “Torah”, as Jews call the Old Testament of the Bible.) - both things that don't belong. Feminists (people believing in gender equality) responded by celebrating the orange, by placing it in the center the Seder plate showing that since women belonged on the bima, so must an orange on the Seder plate. There was a simliar history to using orange to symbolize LGBTQ inclusion in Judasim. People place an orange on Seder plate to honor and symbolize the struggle for freedom faced by LGBTQ people. For those of us who are part of the LGBTQ community here at our Seder, it makes us feel good to be acknowledged and included, especially when we were not during many times of history, and still today in many places.
The Seder is all about answering questions. But one question remains unanswered, and that’s the most important question – Why? We are taught, “ In every generation, each person must see him/herself as if s/he were redeemed from Egypt.” But why? Why return to Egypt year after year? Why re-taste the bitterness of slavery? Ask the Torah – What difference does this experience make for me? How am I shaped by the experience of slavery and liberation? Here is the Torah’s response…Out of Exodus comes a fully-formed social vision, an ethic, and way of looking at history. Read each verse, and ask how the experience of Egypt shapes us, shapes our behavior, our society, our expectations for the world. This is the missing page from the Haggadah, the answer to Why?
Exodus 22:20 -- You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. You shall not ill-treat any widow or orphan.
Exodus 23: 5 -- When you see your enemy’s mule lying under its burden and would refrain from raising it, you must nevertheless raise it with him. You shall not subvert the rights of your needy in their disputes. ... You shall not oppress a stranger for you know the soul of the stranger having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.
Leviticus 19:33 -- When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. I the Lord am your God.
Leviticus 25:35 -- If your kinsman, becomes poor, and his means fail, then you shall uphold him, you shall hold him as though a resident alien, let him live by your side: do not exact from him advance or accrued interest, but fear your God. Let him live by your side as your kinsman. Do not lend him money at advance interest or give him your food at accrued interest. I the Lord am your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt to give you the land of Canaan, to be your God.
Deuteronomy 5:12-15 -- Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy, as the Lord your God has commanded you. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the Lord your God; you shall not do any work -- you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your ox or your ass, or any of your cattle, or the stranger in your settlements so that your male and female slave may rest as you do. Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt and the Lord your God freed you from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God has commanded you to observe the Sabbath day.
Deuteronomy 10:17 -- God shows no favor and takes no bribe but upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow and befriends the stranger providing him with food and clothing. You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.
Deuteronomy 24:17ff -- You shall not subvert the rights of the stranger or the fatherless; you shall not take a widow's garment in pawn. Remember that you were a slave in Egypt and that the Lord your God redeemed you from there; therefore do I enjoin you to observe this commandment.
When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow -- in order that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings. When you beat down the fruit of your olive trees, do not go over them again, this shall go to the stranger, the fatherless and the widow. When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not pick it over again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow. Always remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt ; therefore do I enjoin you to observe this commandment.
Exodus 20:1-2 -- I am the LORD your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods besides Me.
The Four Queer/Trans Jews Adapted from “the Four Daughters” by Tamara Cohen, Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell and Ronnie Horn. Adapted and used with loving gratitude.
The queer/trans Jew is in search of a meaningful, holy past through our texts, traditions, and people. Ma heh omereh? What do they say?
“Why didn’t the Torah count, or acknowledge women and trans people among the ‘600,000 men on foot, aside from children,’ who came out of Egypt? And why did Moses say at Sinai, ‘Go not near a woman,’ addressing only men, as if preparation for Revelation was not meant for us, as well?”
Because we know that Jewish memory is essential to our identity, we teach them that history is made up by those who tell the tale. If the original Torah did not name and count us as women, trans people and those whose gender we do not know the words for now, it is up to us to fill the empty spaces left in our holy texts. We have the power to tell our own story, take our own census and create our own values. Jewish history is meant for us as well.
And the queer/trans Jew who wants to erase our differences and assimilate? Ma heh omereh? What do they say?
“Why do we keep pushing these questions into every text? Why make us so noticable? So visible? Why are these issues so important to you? Don’t you want to blend in?”
They say: “To you,” instead of “not to me”. They forget the struggles of our ancestors, both Jewish and non-Jewish. Perhaps we’ve been here at some point or another too, what did we need to find the beauty in our divergence? Invite them to our seder tables. Let them see the pleasure and joy at living outside of cis-heteronormativity, the wonder of appreciating queer and trans bodies for all of our diversity and divergence. The blessings of our resistance.
And the queer/trans Jew who does not know that we have a place at the table? Ma heh omereh? What do they say?
“What is this?”
Because they don’t yet know that their question is, in itself, a part of the seder tradition, show them that the Haggadah is a conversation about liberation, and their insights and questions belong here, in our texts and seder plates. Their wonder and curiosity, their frustration and confusion, in equal parts belong right here, nestled between maror and charoset.
And the queer/trans Jew who asks no questions? Who is scared to exist? Isolated from themselves and others?
We must say to them, “Your questions, when they come and in whatever form, will liberate you from Egypt. This is how it is and how it has always been with your queer and Jewish ancestors. For every moment we choose to survive, to look towards unanswered truths, we move a half-step closer to liberation. Even with no questions, you have a seat at our table, you deserve to know the fullness of your ancestors, of Shifra and Puah, of Joseph, of Ruth and Naomi and Judith, of Marsha, Sylvia, Leslie, and so many more who lived both named and unnamed in their truth and power. Come to the seder table with us, you will always have a seat.”
*The hebrew used in this text is in the style of Lior Gross and Eyal Rivlin of the Nonbinary Hebrew Project*
Artist Melissa Shiff "leaving Egypt" in her video installation Passover Projections. (Melissa Shiff, Video Still, New York University Hillel Gallery, 2005.)
If we supported Black Lives Matter,
but didn’t show up to actions — lo dayenu.
It would not have been enough.
If we came to actions whenever we could,
but didn’t give money to bail funds — lo dayenu.
If we donated to bail funds when we had the money,
but didn’t make reparations — lo dayenu.
If we gave reparations to Black people,
but didn’t listen to their voices — lo dayenu.
If we truly heard them when they spoke,
but failed to recognize Black people aren’t a monolith — lo dayenu.
If we realized the diversity of Black people and their experiences,
but didn’t practice radical empathy with them — lo dayenu.
If we radically empathized with everyone oppressed by white supremacy,
but failed to reflect on our role within that system — lo dayenu.
If we understood our place in white supremacist culture,
but didn’t work to oppose it — lo dayenu.
If we tried to dismantle white supremacy,
but couldn’t shake the idea that police are necessary — lo dayenu.
If we saw police as an unnecessary evil,
but didn’t call to defund them — lo dayenu.
If we advocated for defunding the police,
but didn’t believe police abolition was possible — lo dayenu.
If we accepted the possibility of police abolition,
but failed to consider that prisons can be abolished too — lo dayenu.
If we came to see prison abolition as a real possibility,
but couldn’t picture what it might look like — lo dayenu.
If we started imagining a world without prisons,
but couldn’t overcome our need for punishment — lo dayenu.
If we let go of the idea that wrongdoers must be punished,
but didn’t challenge our own carceral thinking — lo dayenu.
If we unlearned our carceral thought patterns,
but didn’t learn about transformative justice — lo dayenu.
If we opened our minds to a justice that heals instead of punishes,
but didn’t take accountability for our own actions — lo dayenu.
If we held ourselves accountable,
but didn’t practice self-compassion — lo dayenu.
If we showed compassion to ourselves and all others,
but didn’t love each other with all of our hearts,
and all of our spirits,
and all of our selves — lo dayenu.
It would not have been enough.
A Blessing For Washing 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
How big were the original matzot that baked on the Isrealites’ backs as they left Egypt? We may never know, although in recent years archaeology has become much better at identifying ancient bread. For tonight’s historical reconstruction, the script calls for participants to consume an amount equivalent to the Rabbinic measure of an olive-bulk, a kezayit. Understanding how much that is in matzah and maror is something which archaeology, particularly archaeobotany, can contribute to. Moreover, this issue has a moral component well-attuned to the themes of the Seder night.
In Jewish law, the kezayit is the minimal amount at which consumption is considered achila, ‘eating’. This has numerous halachic applications, among them the minimum quantity of matzah and maror one must consume to fulfil the commandment of eating them at the Seder. The complex halachic discourse on the kezayit is based on attempts to reconcile various Jewish sources for comparative measures, including the volume of an egg, the size of a mouthful, and the weight Maimonides’ dirham coin. It also involves questions on the historical stability of human bodily proportions, chicken egg sizes, and of course, the olive itself. Today, the two widely accepted halachic approaches—of the Chazon Ish and Rav Avraham Chaim Naeh—view the kezayit as much larger than familiar olives, but there are sources for Torah scholars of the last 200 years considering it to be a truly olive-sized amount even for matzah on Passover. Ultimately, uncertainty regarding the size of an olive in ancient Israel is a product of the Jewish people’s long exile. Concomitant with the contemporary Jewish return to Israel, renewal of connection to the land, its agriculture, and its ancient material culture, archaeology offers a new source for this question.
In a pioneering article in the periodical Tchumin,[1] Prof. Mordechai Kislev summarized measurements of hundreds of ancient olive stones (from Masada during the time of the Great Revolt and from the 7th century CE site of Shlomi in the Galilee), attempting to identify the three varieties of olives referred to in the Mishna (Kelim 17:8): “The olive of which they spoke it is one that is neither big nor small but of moderate size, the egori.” As further clarified in a later article,[2] the archaeobotanical evidence robustly supports the historical stability of certain varieties of olive in the land of Israel and their size ranges. This is further supported by the existence of very ancient living, fruit-bearing olive trees.
Halachically relevant motivations for returning to a smaller kezayit include the difficulty of eating large amounts of matzah and maror for many people, and the prohibition against achila gasa—which may include eating with the wrong intentions or in a disrespectful manner, especially when full or starving. Jewish law prohibits saying a blessing on food consumed by achila gasa and the Talmud specifically singles out eating the Paschal sacrifice in this manner as an example of a transgressor’s wrongdoing (Bavli, Horiyot 10b). Equipped with convincing arguments and motivations for amending current halachic understandings of the kezayit, Kislev and another expert on Rabbinic measurements attained an audience a few years ago with a leading halachic authority in Bnei Brak to receive an authoritative affirmation, or psak. The attempt was unsuccessful but, in some circles at least, it is probably only a matter of time before future appeals succeed and a much smaller kezayit gains wide halachic acceptance.
Meanwhile, let us consider some moral implications of the size of an ancient olive. Matzah on Passover symbolizes bread of affliction, or poor man’s bread. As such, it contrasts to the puffy, ‘haughty’ bread that symbolizes the mighty ancient Egyptian empire. Maror reminds us of the bitterness of slavery. Considering these themes of poverty and servitude, we should appreciate that most Jews today enjoy the best of both worlds—we live in materially prosperous nations where we are also free to maintain our traditions and openly practice our religion. Collectively, we are both free and wealthy. But this fortunate combination also comes with pitfalls.
The 14th century social theorist, Ibn Khaldun, thought that ruling dynasties followed a cycle of four generations. First, the pioneering generation builds up its dynasty from scratch through hard work, humility, mutual respect and collective action. The second generation maintains its noble character by a direct connection to its pioneering parents. The third generation does so by memory, by tradition. Finally, the fourth generation forgets that tradition, becomes too comfortable, haughty, and submerged in a morally degenerate life of ease and luxury. It succumbs to a new dynasty which has the vigour and vitality afforded by group cohesion in the face of adversity. Interestingly, Ibn Khaldun uses as an example Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, with Joseph reaching the peak of family prestige. On his reading, the Israelites’ decline into servitude left the generation of the exodus lacking in group cohesion and the confidence to take on the giants of Canaan. Ibn Khaldun considers the Israelites’ sojourning in the wilderness to be a reboot of the dynastic cycle in which a new generation instilled with values and collective cohesion emerges. The continuation of the cycle is foreshadowed in Deuteronomy (31:20):
For when I shall have brought them into the land which I swore unto their fathers, flowing with milk and honey; and they shall have eaten their fill, and waxen fat; and turned unto other gods, and served them, and despised Me, and broken My covenant.
The implication is that out of the material blessing comes the curse of haughtiness, gluttony, and moral decline. Indeed, these qualities can be especially difficult to avoid in affluent, materialistic society.
What then is the antidote to all this? In terms of Ibn Khaldun’s model, how can we avoid the decline of the fourth generation without having to endure the hardships of a first generation? The answer is that we can extend our third-generation status to our children and grandchildren via tradition, via Torah. This is prescribed, among other places, in the above chapter in Deuteronomy. By remembering the values of the pioneering generation, we maintain our third-generation status and keep moral degeneration at bay.
On Seder night we celebrate our humble past and rise to freedom. We remember what it is to be unfree by recounting the story of slavery in Egypt. We remember what it is to be poor by eating matzah and putting away the bigger piece for later. Perhaps we remember how our forefathers got by with little. Understanding what a kezayit really was can help us collectively remember what that might have been like. When we do so, we tune into a past that keeps us going in the future—and offers a moral antidote to haughtiness, gluttony, and complacency.
Charoset – the sweet mixture representing mortar and freedom
Just as charoset looks and tastes different in various Jewish cultures, it also sounds different:
Ladino in Sarajevo, Yugoslavia: harosi
Yiddish in Lublin, Poland: chroyses
Western Yiddish in Amsterdam, Netherlands: charouses
Judeo-Greek in Ioannina, Greece: charoseth, charosef
Judeo-Italian in Venice, Italy: haroset
Judeo-French in Bayonne, France: rharoche
Judeo-Persian in Tehran, Iran: halegh
Judeo-Median in Hamadan, Iran: haliká
Jewish Neo-Aramaic in Betanure, Iraq: ḥəllíq
Judeo-Arabic in Baghdad, Iraq: ḥilq, silan, shira
Judeo-Arabic in Tripoli, Libya: laḥliq
Judeo-Arabic in Sana‘a, Yemen: dukkih
Libyan laḥliq, made with dates, pecans, almonds, pomegranate juice, raisins, apples, cinnamon, cumin, and coriander. Other Libyan laḥliq recipes include allspice, nutmeg, ginger, and vinegar. (Image from Or Shalom haggadah, Israel, 2008)
Ashkenazi charoset as commonly made in the United States today – with apples, walnuts, wine, cinnamon, and sugar. Other recipes include raisins. (Image from https://whatjewwannaeat.com/charoset/)
Italian charoset with apples, pears, dates, raisins, prunes, pine nuts, honey, ginger, and cinnamon. Other Italian recipes include almonds, dates, bananas, oranges, walnuts, chestnuts, and cloves. (Image from https://jovinacooksitalian.com/2015/03/31/italian-passover/)
You can find delicious recipes for charoset and other Passover foods at jewishlanguages.org.
As we approach the end of the Seder, we come to the section in which we find and eat the afikoman , the section called Tzafun, which means “hidden” or “stored away.” The implication is that the afikoman represents something inaccessible, something not available to us in our everyday lives—complete and ultimate freedom, true redemption. Sated with family, learning, laughter, and food, we finally act out the repair of our broken world.
Barech is the part of the Seder when we give thanks for the food we’ve just eaten. First we say grace over our meals, which is known as “Birkat Hamazon.” After this, we bless the third cup of wine. Finally, we sing “Eliyahu HaNavi” and welcome the prophet Elijah into our Seder with the Cup of Elijah. Every Passover at this time we open our door for the prophet Elijah. We also have a cup of wine that we save for Elijah for the end of the Seder.
The word "Barech" means "Bless," because during this part of the seder we thank God for the food we've just eaten and for allowing us to have our seder.
Discussion Question: Why do you think we open our doors to welcome the prophet Elijah? What message don we get from this?
By placing a cup of wine on the seder table and opening the door after our meal, we recognize that when the Messiah returns- just as Yochanan was an Elijah-type announcing his first coming - there will come before him the prophet Elijah to announce the coming of redemption of all Israel. “Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the Lord comes. And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and strike the land with a decree of utter destruction.” Malachi 3:23-24
Fill the cup of Elijah until it overflows, then the youngest child present will open the door to let Elijah in - calling out to see if he has arrived. Then we all sing together:
Eliyahu Hanavi, Eliyahu hatishbi, Eliyahu, Eliyahu, Eliyahu hagiladi.
Bimheirah b'yamenu, yavo aylenu, Im Mashiach ben-David, Im Mashiach ben-David
Eliyahu Hanavi, Eliyahu hatishbi, Eliyahu, Eliyahu, Eliyahu hagiladi.
Bimheirah b'yamenu, yavo aylenu, Im Mashiach ben-David, Im Mashiach ben-David
Elijah the prophet, the returning man of Gilad: return to us speedily, in our days with the messiah, son of David.
After commemorating the very first redemption of the Hebrew people from Egypt, we express our hope and firm belief in the coming of Moshiach ben David, who will usher in the new and final redemption very very soon.
Where Elijah represents the movement of history and path to redemption, Miriam represents ongoing healing, renewal and sustenance on the journey. Miriam is beginning, Elijah is end. Miriam is present, Elijah is future. Miriam is place, Elijah is time. Miriam is the sea, Elijah is the mountain.
Legend says that fresh water miraculously followed Miriam as the Hebrews traveled through the desert, providing them with sustenance. God gave this gift to Miriam, the prophetess, to honor her bravery and devotion to the Hebrew people.
We fill Miriam's cup with water to honor her role in ensuring the survival of our people. Like Miriam, Hebrew women in all generations have been essential for the continuity of our people. As keepers of traditions in the home, women sustained their families and kept rituals and recipes alive in songs and stories from mother to daughter, from generation to generation.We place Miriam's cup on our Seder table to honor the important role of women in our tradition and history, whose stories have been too sparingly told. For Miriam we lift our water glasses and say:
Zot be'er Miriam kos mayim chayam.
This is the well of Miriam, the cup of living waters.
Find the full Omer Workbook at: https://www.goldherring.com/
But Jerusalem is more than a place, it is a feeling, it is a hope. At this point in the seder, 1/2 or 1/4 sheets of paper should be passed around to each participant, along with an envelope and writing utensil. Folks are invited to write a brief note to their future selves inspired by "next year in Jerusalem." As metaphor: what is our own personal Jerusalem where we hope to see ourselves a year from now?
Everyone seals and addresses their envelope to themselves, and the seder leader, or whoever is leading this exercise takes responsibility for keeping the notes all year and mailing them the following Pesach season.
This exercise can be done formally when everyone sits down to dessert or it can be introduced when the break for the meal happens and people can elect to write the notes at their leisure.
I often have a basket out for people to drop their notes in.
https://i.ytimg.com/vi/jCTw6xWqRVA/hqdefault.jpg
Bashana haba'a, neshev al hamirpeset venispor tziporim nodedot.
Next year we will sit on the porch And count all the migrating birds
Yeladim, bekhoufsha, yesakhakhu tofeset beyn habayit, oulebeyn hasadot.
Children on vacation will play catch Between the house and the fields
Od tire, od tire, kama tov yihye, bashana, bashana haba'a
You will see, you will see How good it will be
Next Year
Anavim adumim, yavshilu ad ha'erev veyugshu tzonenim lashulkhan.
Red grapes will ripen by evening And be served chilled to the table
Verukhot redumim, yis'u el em haderekh itonim yeshanim ve'anan.
Pleasant breezes will blow on to the roads Old newspapers and clouds
Od tire, od tire, kama tov yihye, bashana, bashana haba'a
You will see, you will see How good it will be
Next Year
Bashana haba'a, nifros kapot yadayim, mul ha'or hanigar halavan.
We will spread out our open hands Into the bright white light
Anafa levana, tifros ba'or knafayim vehashemesh tizrakh betokhan.
A white heron will spread force in light its wings And the sun will rise in their midst
Od tire, od tire, kama tov yihye, bashana, bashana haba'a
You will see, you will see How good it will be
Next Year
Bashana haba'a, neshev al hamirpeset venispor tziporim nodedot.
Next year we will sit on the porch And count all the migrating birds
Yeladim, bekhoufsha, yesakhakhu tofeset beyn habayit, oulebeyn hasadot.
Children on vacation will play catch Between the house and the fields
Next year
Ehad Mi Yodeah - in Ladino
Ken supiense i entendiense,
alavar al Dio kreense.
Kualo es el uno (1)?
Uno es el Kriador
Baruhu ubaruh Shemo.
Ken supiense i entendiense,
alavar al Dio kreense.
Kualo son los tredje?
Tredje (13) son los ikarim.
Dodje (12) ermanos kon Yosef.
Onze (11) ermanos sin Yosef.
Diez (10) mandamientos de la Ley.
Mueve (9) mezes de la prenyada.
Ocho (8) dias de la milá.
Siete (7) dias de la semana.
Sesh (6) livros de la Mishna.
Sinko (5) livros de la Ley.
Kuatro (4) madres de Israel.
Tres (3) muestros padres son.
Dos (2) Moshe i Aron.
Uno (1) es el Kriador.
Baruhu ubaruh Shemo.
Hazzan Isaac Azose, The Liturgy of Ezra Bessaroth. Seattle (USA), 1999.
This song was recorded on July 16, 1999 at Studio 5, Bellevue WA.
