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TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. What do you consider your “promised land,” or heaven on earth?
2. In Hebrew, the word for Egypt is “Mitzraim,” which literally means “narrow place.” What is one way that you wish for our society to be more open?
3. Moses is considered one of the greatest leaders in our history — he is described as being smart, courageous, selfless and kind. Which of today’s leaders inspires you in a similar way?
4. Miriam was a prophetess and the sister of Moses who, after crossing the Red Sea, led the women in song and dance with tambourines. She is described as being courageous, confident, insightful and nurturing. Which musician or artist today inspires you in a similar way?
5. More recent and ongoing struggles for freedom include civil rights, GLBTQ equality, and women’s rights. Who is someone involved in this work that you admire?
6. Is there someone — or multiple people — in your family’s history who made their own journey to freedom?
7. Freedom is a central theme of Passover. When in your life have you felt most free?
8. If you could write an 11th commandment, what would it be?
9. What’s the longest journey you have ever taken?
10. How many non-food uses for matzah can you think of? Discuss!
11. Let’s say you are an Israelite packing for 40 years in the desert. What three modern items would you want to bring?
12. The Haggadah says that in every generation of Jewish history enemies have tried to eliminate us. What are the biggest threats you see to Judaism today?
13. The Passover seder format encourages us to ask as many questions as we can. What questions has Judaism encouraged you to ask?
14. Israel is central to the Passover seder. Do you think modern Israel is central to Jewish life? Why or why not?
15. The manna in the desert had a taste that matched the desire of each individual who ate it. For you, what would that taste be? Why?
16. Let’s say you had to swim across the Red Sea, and it could be made of anything except water. What would you want it to be?
17. If the prophet Elijah walked through the door and sat down at your table, what’s the first thing you would ask him?
18. Afikoman means “dessert” in Greek. If you could only eat one dessert for the rest of your life, what would it be?
19. What is something you wish to cleanse yourself of this year? A bad habit? An obsession or addiction?
20. The word “seder” means “order.” How do you maintain order in your life?
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Download the PDF here: https://www.jewishboston.com/20-table-topics-for-your-passover-seder/
The idea for the Freedom Seder was hatched 51 years ago, and took place in Washington DC, eight days after the assasination of Dr. Martin Luther King. People in the city were rebeling, and a Jewish man and civil rights activist named Arthur Waskow was deeply affected by the military presence in the city brought on by the violence. A year later, he wrote is own Haggadah, and over 800 Washingtonians, black, white, jewish and christian, came together in a church for a solidarity gathering seder with his Haggadah.
From a Washpo article about the event:
The huge crowd in 1969 sat at long tables in front of candles and matzah. They read from Waskow’s book, which invoked nuclear disarmament and police brutality as modern problems in need of solutions alongside the traditional “Dayenu” recitation of ancient problems that God solved, and listed King and Gandhi as “prophets” alongside Elijah. The worshipers raised their wine glasses and proclaimed not “L’chaim” but “Liberation now!” and sang a hymn common to black Christians and to Jews: “Go Down, Moses.”
Today we have gathered friends in the name of freedom and solidarity, rememberance of our ancestors to share a communal seder and meal and ask ourselves and our beloved guests....
What does freedom mean to you in 2019?
Throughout the Exodus story, God uses four phrases to describe the redemption of the Hebrew people.
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I will take you out. This refers to the freeing of the Jewish people from the harsh conditions they faced. It’s mentioned when God releases the plagues.
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I will save you. As the Jews begin to leave Egypt, they achieve their final salvation from servitude.
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I will redeem you. When Moses splits the sea, the Israelites escape from Egypt for good.
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I will take you as a nation. They finally reach the promised land in Israel.
Each phase of the Jewish freedom effort relates to a stage of the civil rights movement. For this first cup, we will think of Harriet Tubman. Born into slavery, Tubman escaped in 1849, following the North Star 100 miles to Pennsylvania. Nicknamed “Moses,” she would become the Underground Railroad’s most famous conductor, embarking on about 13 rescue operations and pulling out at least 70 slaves, including her family. Tubman continued her anti-slavery activities during the Civil War, serving as a scout, spy and nurse for the North and even becoming the first U.S. woman to lead troops into battle. Just as God took the Israelites out of slavery, Harriet Tubman took her family and others out of the south, freeing them of bondage.
At the beginning of the karpas section of the Seder, the leader reads:
Centuries ago, only those who were free enjoyed the luxury of dipping their food to begin a meal. In celebration of our people’s freedom, tonight, we, too, start our meal by dipping green vegetables. However, we also remember that our freedom came after tremendous struggle. And so, we dip our vegetables into salt water to recall the ominous waters that threatened to drown our Israelite ancestors as they fled persecution in Egypt, as well as the tears they shed on that harrowing journey to freedom. As we dip, we recognize that, today, there are more than 65 million people still making these treacherous journeys away from persecution and violence in their homelands. As we dip the karpas into salt water tonight, we bring to mind those who have risked and sometimes lost their lives in pursuit of safety and liberty.
Participant
We dip for the Rohingya father who walked for six days to avoid military capture in his native Myanmar before he came to the Naf River and swam to Bangladesh.
We dip for the Syrian mother rescued from the dark waters of the Mediterranean Sea in the early hours of morning, still holding the lifeless body of her infant child after their small boat capsized.
We dip for the Somali and Ethiopian refugees deliberately drowned when the smuggler who promised them freedom forced them into the Arabian Sea.
Leader
We dip for these brave souls and for the thousands of other refugees who have risked their lives in unsafe and unforgiving waters across the globe this past year.
It is a green vegetable that we dip tonight – a reminder of spring, hope, and the possibility of redemption even in the face of unimaginable difficulty. As we mourn those who have lost their lives in search of freedom, we remain hopeful that those who still wander will find refuge.
Before we eat it, we recite a short blessing:
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.
Our God and God of our ancestors, help those who are fleeing persecution today, as our ancestors did thousands of years ago. Show loving kindness and compassion to those hemmed in by misery and captivity, to those who take to the open seas or traverse treacherous landscapes seeking freedom and liberty. Rescue and recover them -- deliver them from gorge to meadow, from darkness to light. Inspire us to act on behalf of those we do not know, on behalf of those we may never meet because we know the heart of the stranger. We, too, ate the bread of affliction whose taste still lingers. And so, dear God inspire us to pursue righteousness for those who seek the freedom we enjoy tonight. Do it speedily and in our days, and let us say: Amen.
This reading is taken from the Jews For Racial & Economic Justice Haggadah supplement that was produced in collaboration with activists and leaders from across the United States. The text is intended to highlight the role Jews must play in confronting racism and abusive policing. The authors note: “Each piece of the supplement may provoke discussion, reflection or even contention. We hope that this wrestling, thinking and feeling — in the great tradition of our people — will be a powerful part of your Seder and will lead to meaningful action for justice.”
Ma Nishtana: The Four Questions
A Fifth Question by Leo Ferguson
“Why on this night when we remember the oppression and resistance of Jews should we also think about the lives of people of color?”
Because many Jews are people of color. Because racism is a Jewish issue. Because our liberation is connected.
White Ashkenazi Jews have a rich history but are only a part of the Jewish story. Mizrahi & Sephardi
Jews; Yemeni Jews; Ethiopian Jews; Jews who trace their heritage to the Dominican Republic, to Cuba
& Mexico; to Guyana & Trinidad; descendants of enslaved Africans whose ancestors converted or whose parents intermarried.
Jews of color are diverse, multihued and proud of it — proud of our Jewishness and proud of our
Blackness. But though our lives are joyous and full, racism forces us down a narrow, treacherous path.
On the one hand we experience the same oppression that afflicts all people of color in America — racism targets us, our family members, and our friends. On the other hand, the very community that we would turn to for belonging and solidarity — our Jewish community — often doesn’t acknowledge our experience.
Jews of color cannot choose to ignore the experiences of people of color everywhere, anymore than we would ignore our Jewishness. We must fully inhabit both communities and we need all Jews to stand with us, forcefully and actively opposing racism and police violence.
But in order to do so, we must pare our past trauma from our present truth: our history of oppression leaves many of us hyper-vigilant and overly preoccupied with safety. As Jews we share a history that is overburdened with tales of violent oppression. Though different Jewish communities have varying experiences, none of us have escaped painful legacies of persecution, including genocide. This past is real, and part of why we gather today is to remember it.
But the past is past.
However seductive harsh policing, surveillance and incarceration may be in the short term, it will never serve us in the end. Not when those tactics brutalize other communities, humiliating and incarcerating our neighbors and perpetuate a status quo that leaves low-income communities of color on the other side of a sea of fear — still trapped; still stranded. The only real way out of the Mitzrayim of our fears is solidarity.
Only by forging deep connections and sharing struggle with other communities will we be creating the lasting allies who will walk with us into the promised land of our collective liberation. That is true of Jewish freedom — true and lasting safety.
They cried to Moses, “What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt ... it is better to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness” (14:11-12).
When Moses led the Jews out of Egypt, it was a moment of great risk and great change. As the passage above shows us, though life under Pharaoh was cruel and crushing, it was also familiar — a known fear. After a century of servitude, freedom. What changed? It was the Jewish people daring to imagine for themselves something greater. Daring to take great risks and face great fears to find liberation.
This willingness to stand up for justice is a strength we have found again and again. When the oppression of economic exploitation demanded it, our grandparents found it in the labor movement; when the civil rights movement demanded it, our parents travelled to the South to register voters.
Now this moment demands again that we take risks for justice.
What our neighbors in communities of color are asking — what the Jews of color in our own communities need from their fellow Jews — is that we push past the comfortable and move to action.
In the streets, in our synagogues and homes, with our voices, our bodies, our money and resources, with our imaginations. In doing so we must center the voices and the leadership of Jews of color and other communities of color, while forming deep partnerships and long-term commitments to fight for lasting change.
Passover is a time of remembrance but also one of renewal — of looking ahead toward the spring and new growth that will sustain us through the seasons to come. Once we spent spring in the desert. It was harsh and difficult but from that journey grew a people who have endured for centuries. What would happen if we took that journey again, not alone in the wilderness but surrounded by friends and allies, leaving no one behind?
“Why on this night when we remember the oppression and resistance of Jews should we also think about the lives of people of color?” Because many Jews are people of color. Because racism is a Jewish issue. Because our liberation is connected.
White Ashkenazi Jews have a rich history but are only a part of the Jewish story. Mizrahi & Sephardi Jews; Yemeni Jews; Ethiopian Jews; Jews who trace their heritage to the Dominican Republic, to Cuba & Mexico; to Guyana & Trinidad; descendants of enslaved Africans whose ancestors converted or whose parents intermarried.
Jews of color are diverse, multihued and proud of it — proud of our Jewishness and proud of our Blackness. But though our lives are joyous and full, racism forces us down a narrow, treacherous path. On the one hand we experience the same oppression that afflicts all people of color in America — racism targets us, our family members, and our friends. On the other hand, the very community that we would turn to for belonging and solidarity — our Jewish community — often doesn’t acknowledge our experience.
Jews of color cannot choose to ignore the experiences of people of color everywhere, anymore than we would ignore our Jewishness. We must fully inhabit both communities and we need all Jews to stand with us, forcefully and actively opposing racism and police violence.
But in order to do so, we must pare our past trauma from our present truth: our history of oppression leaves many of us hyper-vigilant and overly preoccupied with safety. As Jews we share a history that is overburdened with tales of violent oppression. Though different Jewish communities have varying experiences, none of us have escaped painful legacies of persecution, including genocide. This past is real, and part of why we gather today is to remember it. But the past is past. However seductive harsh policing, surveillance and incarceration may be in the short term, it will never serve us in the end. Not when those tactics brutalize other communities, humiliating and incarcerating our neighbors and perpetuate a status quo that leaves low-income communities of color on the other side of a sea of fear — still trapped; still stranded. The only real way out of the Mitzrayim of our fears is solidarity. Only by forging deep connections and sharing struggle with other communities will we creating the lasting allies who will walk with us into the promised land of our collective liberation. That is true Jewish freedom — true and lasting safety.
They cried to Moses, “What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt ... it is better to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness” (14:11-12).
When Moses led the Jews out of Egypt, it was a moment of great risk and great change. As the passage above shows us, though life under Pharaoh was cruel and crushing, it was also familiar — a known fear. After a century of servitude, freedom. What changed? It was the Jewish people daring to imagine for themselves something greater. Daring to take great risks and face great fears to find liberation. This willingness to stand up for justice is a strength we have found again and again. When the oppression of economic exploitation demanded it, our grandparents found it in the labor movement; when the civil rights movement demanded it, our parents travelled to the South to register voters. Now this moment demands again that we take risks for justice.
What our neighbors in communities of color are asking — what the Jews of color in our own communities need from their fellow Jews — is that we push past the comfortable and move to action. In the streets, in our synagogues and homes, with our voices, our bodies, our money and resources, with our imaginations. In doing so we must center the voices and the leadership of Jews of color and other communities of color, while forming deep partnerships and long-term commitments to fight for lasting change.
Passover is a time of remembrance but also one of renewal — of looking ahead toward the spring and new growth that will sustain us through the seasons to come. Once we spent spring in the desert. It was harsh and difficult but from that journey grew a people who have endured for centuries. What would happen if we took that journey again, not alone in the wilderness but surrounded by friends and allies, leaving no one behind?
Tonight, let’s speak about four people striving to engage in racial justice. They are a complicated constellation of identity and experience; they are not simply good or bad, guileless or silent. They are Jews of Color and white Jews. They are Mizrahi, Sephardi, and Ashkenazi; they are youth, middle-aged, and elders. They are a variety of people who are at different stages of their racial justice journey. Some of them have been on this journey for their entire lives, and for some, today is the first day. Some of them are a part of us, and others are quite unfamiliar.
What do they say? They ask questions about engaging with racial justice as people with a vested interest in Jewishness and Jewish community. How do we answer? We call them in with compassion, learning from those who came before us.
WHAT DOES A QUESTIONER SAY?
“I support equality, but the tactics and strategies used by current racial justice movements make me uncomfortable.”
Time and time again during the journey through the desert, the Israelites had to trust Moses and God’s vision of a more just future that the Israelites could not see themselves. As they wandered through the desert, eager to reach the Promised Land, they remained anxious about each step on their shared journey. They argued that there must be an easier way, a better leader, and a better God. They grumbled to Moses and Aaron in Exodus 16:3, “If only we had died by the hand of God in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the cooking pot, when we ate our fill of bread! For you have brought us out into this wilderness to starve this whole community to death.” Despite their deep misgivings, they continued onward.
As we learn in our Passover retelling, the journey toward liberation and equity can be difficult to map out. In the midst of our work, there are times when we struggle to truly identify our own promised land. We see this challenge in various movements, whether for civil rights, women’s rights, LGBTQ rights, workers’ rights, and others. In our retelling of these struggles for justice, we often erase conflicts of leadership, strategy debates, or even the strong contemporaneous opposition to their successes. Only when we study these movements in depth do we appreciate that all pushes for progress and liberation endure similar struggles, indecision, and pushback.
WHAT DOES A NEWCOMER SAY?
“How do I reach out and engage with marginalized communities in an authentic and sustained way?”
We tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt year after year; it is a story not only about slavery and freedom, but also a story of transition. At its core, the Passover story is about the process of moving from oppression to liberation. It informs us that liberation is not easy or fast, but a process of engagement and relationship building.
As the Israelites wandered in the desert, they developed systems of accountability and leadership. Every person contributed what they could given their skills, passions, and capacity to create the mishkan, the Israelites’ spiritual sanctuary in the desert. As it says in Exodus 35:29, “[T]he Israelites, all the men and women whose hearts moved them to bring anything for the work that the LORD, through Moses, had commanded to be done, brought it as a freewill offering to the LORD.”
Those of us engaging or looking to engage in racial justice work can learn from that example. We need to show up, and keep showing up. We can spend time going to community meetings, trainings, marches, protests, and other actions while practicing active listening and self-education. Only by each person exploring their own privileges and oppressions, whatever they may be, can we show up fully and thoughtfully in this racial justice work.
WHAT DOES A JEW OF COLOR SAY?
“What if I have other interests? Am I obligated to make racial justice my only priority?”
The work of racial justice is not only for People of Color; it is something everyone must be engaged in. Most Jews of Color are happy to be engaged in racial justice, whether professionally, personally, or a mix of both. However, we nd too often the burden of the work falls on our shoulders. The work of racial justice cannot only fall to Jews of Color.
Instead, all Jews who are engaged in tikkun olam, repairing the world, should be engaged in the work of racial justice. Following the leadership of Jews of Color, white Jews must recognize their own personal interest in fighting to dismantle racist systems. When white Jews commit to racial justice work, it better allows Jews of Color to take time for self-care by stepping away from the work or focusing on a different issue. As Rabbi Tarfon writes in Pirke Avot 2:21, “It is not your responsibility to finish the work of perfecting the world, but you are not free to desist from it either.”
WHAT DOES AN AVOIDER SAY?
“I am so scared of being called a racist, I don’t want to engage in any conversations about race.”
Engaging in conversations about difficult and personal subjects takes time and practice. When Joseph first began having prophetic dreams as a young man, he insensitively told his brothers that despite his youth, they would eventually bow down to him. In Genesis 37:8, Joseph’s brothers respond by asking, ‘“Do you mean to rule over us?” And they hated him even more for his talk about his dreams.’ However, as he matured, his dreams became his method of survival. As Joseph learned how to share his dreams with people in power, he was able to reunite with his family and create a period of incredible prosperity in Egypt.
We will make mistakes when engaging in racial justice. It is part of the process. Engaging in racial justice conversations can be painful and uncomfortable; it is also absolutely essential. We must raise up the dignity and complexity in others that we see in ourselves and our loved ones. Empathy for people of different backgrounds, cultures, religions, and races moves us to have these difficult conversations. Compassion for ourselves allows us to keep engaging through any guilt or discomfort.
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Download the Full PDF Here: http://rpr.world/the-four-people
THE FOUR CHILDREN: The Wise Child asks: “What are the statutes and laws in our country that protect individuals from discrimination based on race?” You should respond by referencing some of the most important pieces of legislation aimed at addressing racial injustice in the United States, including the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. You should note that these laws were won through the efforts of individuals committed to social change, including many Reform Jews, and that the various protections they provide are critical to combatting discrimination on the basis of race. At the same time, you should remind this child that the protections we already have are imperfect and, in many cases, are coming under attack. It is our responsibility as Reform Jews to fight against the erosion of existing civil rights laws and to advocate for reforms in education, criminal justice, voting rights and economic policies that advance true racial equality. The Wicked Child asks: “Why must I be involved in pursuing racial justice?” In asking this question, the wicked child has denied a basic principle of Judaism: that we have a collective responsibility to address injustice, even when we are not directly affected by that injustice or might benefit from it because of our own privilege. You should teach this child that it is for the sake of everyone that we advocate for racial justice. In protecting voting rights, improving access to education and calling for sensible criminal justice and law enforcement reforms, we affirm the fundamental Jewish belief that all people are created b’tzelem Elohim, in the Divine image, and thus are deserving of equal rights. The Simple Child asks: “What do we even mean by racial justice?” You should tell this child that racial justice is the pursuit of equality for all people, regardless of race. You should further explain that racial injustice can take many forms, from explicitly racist comments to laws and institutions that perpetuate racial inequalities. With a firm hand, we as Reform Jews must protect every single person’s civil rights, ensuring that no individual is excluded from the benefits of society or suffers under discriminatory laws and actions solely because of race or ethnicity. We must also consider the ways in which we are ourselves complicit in racial injustice and work to build communities and congregations that reflect our commitment to equality. And the Child Who Does Not Know How to Ask: To respond to the child who is too overwhelmed to ask a question, you should start at the beginning, telling the child that we are not required to complete the work of racial justice, but neither are we free to desist from it. There are many ways that we can play a positive role in the campaign for racial justice. We can help make racial justice issues a priority in our own synagogues by embracing Jewish racial diversity and by learning together about structural racism. We can build relationships across lines of faith and race. And we can initiate or participate in community, state and national efforts to advocate for civil rights laws. In all of these ways, we honor the legacy of our parents and grandparents – who in previous generations participated in acts of civil disobedience, marched arm-in-arm in support of equal rights for all Americans, and traveled to register voters – while at the same time ensuring that our children and future generations are granted an America in which our vision of racial justice is truly realized. Religious Action of Reform Judaism Center A RACIAL JUSTICE HAGGADAH INSERT rac.org/racialjustice
Passover celebrates the redemption of the Jewish people. According to the biblical story, the Jews served as slaves in Egypt, where they built storehouses and palaces for Pharaoh. Pharaoh made their lives miserable by setting strict taskmasters over them and by decreeing that all newborn Jewish boys be killed.
Through Moses, a son of an Israelite slave raised by Pharaoh’s daughter, God redeemed the Jewish people from slavery and led them through the wilderness for forty years on the way to the Promised Land.
To many, the biblical story of Passover today represents all liberation struggles, past and present. Every year at the Seder table, as we tell the ancient story, we also remember the liberation struggles still under way and commit ourselves to these
struggles.
To Consider- Exodus / 2:23-25 שְׁמוֹת
The children of Israel sighed by reason of the bondage, and they cried,
And their cry came up unto God by reason of the bondage.
And God heard their groaning, and God remembered the covenant
With Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob.
And God saw the children of Israel,
And God took cognizance of them.
How do we apply the idea of a covenant to our modern society? What does it mean that first God heard and then remembered; saw the children of Israel and only then became aware of them?
There is a link between hearing and remembering, seeing and knowing. Tonight, let us listen to each other’s stories of immigration and remember our historical journeys to be free. Let us look around at this diverse, multifaith community gathered for the Seder and know our current covenant, our responsibilities, to ourselves and to each other, to
ensure our entire community is free.
God's concern for justice grows out of His compassion for man. The prophets do not speak of a divine relationship to an absolute principle or idea, called justice. They are intoxicated with the awareness of God's relationship to His people and to all men. Justice is not important for its own sake; the validity of justice and the motivation for its exercise lie in the blessings it brings to man. For justice, as stated above, is not an abstraction, but a value. Justice exists in relation to a person, and is something done by a person. An act of injustice is condemned, not because the law is broken, but because a person has been hurt. What is the image of a person? A person is a being whose anguish may reach the heart of God. “You shall not afflict any widow or orphan. If you do afflict them, and they cry out to Me, I will surely hear their cry. . . If he cries out to Me, I will hear,
for I am compassionate.” (Exodus 22:22-23, 27).
When Cain murdered his brother Abel, the words denouncing his crime did not proclaim:
“You have broken the law.” Instead, we read, “And. . . the Lord said: What have you done?
The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground.” (Genesis 4:10)
Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907-1972) was one of the greatest Jewish theologians and activists of the 20th century. A professor at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York and author of numerous books and articles, he was deeply involved in the civil rights struggles of the 1960s. A famous photo (shown left) captures Heschel walking arm-in-arm with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at the civil
rights march in Selma, Alabama.
Their work for civil rights and social justice strengthened the connection between the Jewish and African American Communities. Remembering the story of the Jewish people and past struggles to overcome oppression, Abraham Heschel and other Jewish leaders recognized their obligation to be aware of others and their ongoing struggles for
freedom.
It is in this same way, that we remembering the compassion shown to us by God in the
Passover Story, we commit to work for a more just world, free from all forms of captivity.
To Consider-
While the Temple stood in Jerusalem (before 70 CE), Jews celebrated Passover by slaughtering, roasting and eating a lamb. This ritual served as a reminder of the night before the exodus from Egypt when, according to the Torah, the Israelites slaughtered and ate lambs and spread the blood of these lambs on their doorposts as a sign to God not to slaughter the firstborn sons in these homes.
The lamb eaten during Temple times was to be consumed completely. As most families were not large enough to finish an entire animal by themselves, families would join together and share a lamb. This ritual thus emphasized the need for community – no individual or family could celebrate Passover alone, but rather needed other families to
make their celebrations complete. Similarly, we celebrate Passover by coming together in community, sharing stories and traditions and committing ourselves, as a community, to working toward liberation for all who are oppressed.
This year parts of the #blacklivesmatter supplement will be incorporated into the Haggadah as part of that continuing work, committing ourselves to end oppressions.
Rabbi Marx is the founder of Chicago's Jewish Council on Urban Affairs. A righteous Jew, for sure.
After having been asked to monitor Dr. King’s open-housing march through Marquette Park in 1966, Rabbi Marx wrote a letter to friends and the broader rabbinic community, explaining his decision to join the civil rights movement, realizing that up until then he'd been on the wrong side of the movement — and history.
An excerpt from his letter:
You may think that I am insensitive to the criticism that I know has been voiced on many occasions over my involvement in civil rights causes: why don't I spend more time on Judaism? Why do I dissipate so much of my energy on a cause that is not ours? I am aware of these criticisms and I am pained by them: for you see, I feel that freedom is Judaism, that Passover is not 3,000 years old — that it is today and that we are part of it. I feel even more deeply that unless Jews — Jews who are devoted to their faith and their synagogues, as I am devoted to my faith and my synagogue — unless all of us are involved in the crucial issues of the world, Judaism will not exist in future generations for our children and our children's children. And perhaps it ought not to exist.
And so, tonight, we are reminded, through the telling of this Jewish liberation story, that we were once slaves, then refugees. But we do not just retell the story. We are commanded to imagine ourselves as though we, personally, went forth from Egypt – to imagine the experience of being victimized because of who we are, of being enslaved, and of, ultimately, being freed. And to reflect on all those people who today are not yet free.
Passover is not 3,000 years old. It is today and we are part of it.
The Passover Haggadah recounts ten plagues that afflicted Egyptian society. In our tradition, Passover is the season in which we imagine our own lives within the story and the story within our lives. Accordingly, we turn our thoughts to the many plagues affecting our society today. Our journey from slavery to redemption is ongoing, demanding the work of our hearts and hands. Here are ten “modern plagues”:
Homelessness
In any given year, about 3.5 million people are likely to experience homelessness, about a third of them children, according to the National Law Center on Homelessness & Poverty. A recent study by the U.S. Conference of Mayors showed the majority of major cities lack the capacity to shelter those in need and are forced to turn people away. We are reminded time and again in the Torah that the Exodus is a story about a wandering people, once suffering from enslavement, who, through God’s help, eventually find their way to their homeland. As we inherit this story, we affirm our commitment to pursue an end to homelessness.
Hunger
About 49 million Americans experience food insecurity, 16 million of them children. While living in a world blessed with more than enough food to ensure all of God’s children are well nourished, on Passover we declare, “Let all who are hungry come and eat!” These are not empty words, but rather a heartfelt and age-old prayer to end the man-made plague of hunger.
Inequality
Access to affordable housing, quality health care, nutritious food and quality education is far from equal. The disparity between the privileged and the poor is growing, with opportunities for upward mobility still gravely limited. Maimonides taught, “Everyone in the house of Israel is obligated to study Torah, regardless of whether one is rich or poor, physically able or with a physical disability.” Unequal access to basic human needs, based on one’s real or perceived identity, like race, gender or disability, is a plague, antithetical to the inclusive spirit of the Jewish tradition.
Greed
In the Talmud, the sage Ben Zoma asks: “Who is wealthy? One who is happy with one’s lot.” These teachings evidence what we know in our conscience—a human propensity to desire more than we need, to want what is not ours and, at times, to allow this inclination to conquer us, leading to sin. Passover urges us against the plague of greed, toward an attitude of gratitude.
Discrimination and hatred
The Jewish people, as quintessential victims of hatred and discrimination, are especially sensitized to this plague in our own day and age. Today, half a century after the civil rights movement in the United States, we still are far from the actualization of the dream Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. articulated in Washington, D.C., a vision rooted in the message of our prophets. On Passover, we affirm our own identity as the once oppressed, and we refuse to stand idly by amid the plagues of discrimination and hatred.
Silence amid violence
Every year, 4.8 million cases of domestic violence against American women are reported. Each year, more than 108,000 Americans are shot intentionally or unintentionally in murders, assaults, suicides and suicide attempts, accidental shootings and by police intervention. One in five children has seen someone get shot. We do not adequately address violence in our society, including rape, sex trafficking, child abuse, domestic violence and elder abuse, even though it happens every day within our own communities.
Environmental destruction
Humans actively destroy the environment through various forms of pollution, wastefulness, deforestation and widespread apathy toward improving our behaviors and detrimental civic policies. Rabbi Nachman of Brezlav taught, “If you believe you can destroy, you must believe you can repair.” Our precious world is in need of repair, now more than ever.
Stigma of mental illness
One in five Americans experiences mental illness in a given year. Even more alarming, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, nearly two-thirds of people with a diagnosable mental illness do not seek treatment, and minority communities are the least likely to search for or have access to mental health resources. Social stigma toward those with mental illness is a widespread plague. Historically, people with mental health issues have suffered from severe discrimination and brutality, yet our society is increasingly equipped with the knowledge and resources to alleviate the plague of social stigma and offer critical support.
Ignoring refugees
We are living through the worst refugee crisis since the Holocaust. On this day, we remember that “we were foreigners in the land of Egypt,” and God liberated us for a reason: to love the stranger as ourselves. With the memory of generations upon generations of our ancestors living as refugees, we commit ourselves to safely and lovingly opening our hearts and our doors to all peace-loving refugees.
Powerlessness
When faced with these modern plagues, how often do we doubt or question our own ability to make a difference? How often do we feel paralyzed because we do not know what to do to bring about change? How often do we find ourselves powerless to transform the world as it is into the world as we know it should be, overflowing with justice and peace?
Written in collaboration with Rabbi Matthew Soffer of Temple Israel of Boston
Singing Dayenu is a 1000-year old Passover tradition. The 15-stanza poem thanks G-d for 15 blessings bestowed upon the Jews in the Exodus. Had G-d only parted the seas for us, “It would have been enough” we say for each miracle or divine act, thus humbly appreciating the immensity of the gifts. KB Frazier’s reworking of the poem addresses us, rather than G-d. It calls us to greater action for justice, saying “lo dayenu ” (it would not have been enough) in recognition of the work still unfinished.
1. If we had sparked a human rights revolution that would unite people all over the world and not followed our present day Nachshons as they help us part the sea of white supremacy and institutional racism — Lo Dayenu
2. If we had followed Nachshons like the youth leaders in Ferguson and not heeded the words they spoke from Black Liberation Leader Assata Shakur: It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love and support each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains — Lo Dayenu
3. If we had learned and chanted the words from Assata Shakur and not protested violence by militarized police — Lo Dayenu
4. If we had protested police use of tear gas, rubber bullets, pepper spray and rifles pointed at protesters and forgotten that we are all b’tselem elohi m, created in G-d’s image — Lo Dayenu
5. If we had remembered that we are all created in G-d’s image and not affirmed Black Lives Matter — Lo Dayenu
6. If we had chanted and cried out that Black Lives Matter and not remembered Rekia Boyd, Alyanna Jones, Shantel Davis, Yvette Smith and Tyisha Miller, Black women and girls also killed by police — Lo Dayenu
7. If we had marched for those killed, chanting Hands up Don’t shoot a nd not recalled the words of Eicha: Lift of thy hands toward Hashem for the life of the thy young children, that faint for hunger at the head of every street. — Lo Dayenu
8. If we had recalled the words of Eicha and not called to attention the school to prison pipeline and the mass incarceration of Black and brown people — Lo Dayenu
9. If we had called attention to the “new Jim Crow” system — and did not truly sh’ma (listen) — Lo Dayenu
10. If we had truly listened to the stories, pain and triumphs of our brothers and sisters of color without feeling the need to correct, erase or discredit them and did not recognize the Pharaohs of this generation — Lo Dayenu
11. If we had worked to dismantle the reigns of today’s Pharoahs and had not joined the new civil rights movement — Lo Dayenu
12. If we had marched, chanted, listened, learned and engaged in this new civil rights movement and not realized that this story is our story, including our people and requiring our full participation — Lo Dayenu
13. If we had concluded that our work is not done, that the story is still being written,that now is still the moment to be involved and that we haven’t yet brought our gifts and talents to the Black Lives Matter movement — Lo Dayenu
While this is not the first instance of state violence against Black people or the first human rights movement, it is indeed OUR time to step up and make a difference. We must work together to progress from Lo Dayenu to Dayenu in the coming years. Ken Yehi Ratzon.
From left, Sojourner Truth, Lucretia Mott, Susan B. Anthony, Alice Paul and Elizabeth Cady Stanton will be featured on the back of the new $10 bill.
A simple piece of Matzah serves to remind us of the immense suffering of ancient slavery. Now we take into account a second item, bitter chocolate, to remind us of modern suffering. One might question how chocolate is representative of hardship, for its purpose is to satisfy one’s pleasures, to be eaten in times of love and craving. Simply put, it is expected to be sweet, but when it is not, the unwanted chocolate is automatically dismissed and rejected. The expectations of chocolate is to be sweet and readily available for one’s satisfaction. Victims/survivors of rape culture can be seen in a similar light. A prize to be won by the hands of a pursuer, it softens, melts, drip, drip, drip. Their dignity mutilated down the wrist, almost ink, slowly hardening to etch su ering like blood. No longer a clean-cut square, the chocolate is transformed into a desired shape, sugar stu ed in to make it what it is not. Today, we embrace chocolate in its plain form, celebrating not its bitterness, but its strength.
Everyone at the table should eat a piece of bitter chocolate and consider quietly the ways in which they feel pressured to take shapes that aren’t natural to them.
Repair the World and Be’chol Lashon invite you to explore how the Jewish community, a multiracial and multiethnic people, can examine our past and present journeys from Exodus to freedom. Ask guests to read the questions aloud and share their own Passover traditions!
Question: Why do Jews from Gibraltar sprinkle a little bit of brick dust into their charoset? Answer: To remind them of the bricks that the Israelite slaves were forced to make.
Question: What do Hungarian Jews place on the Seder table to represent the precious gifts given to the Israelites as they departed Egypt? Answer: Gold and Jewelry
Question: When they read the piece of the Haggadah that begins “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt” (In Hebrew “Avadim Hayinu”), Jews from this country take a pillowcase filled with heavy objects and carry it on their backs around the table. Answer: Syria
Question: Which symbol from the seder plate do the Kavkazi Jews of the Caucasus hide for the children to find instead of the matza? Answer: An Egg
Question: Why do many Middle Eastern Jewish families whip each other with scallions at the Seder table? Answer: To mimic the whips of slave drivers in Egypt.
Question: Because Moses floated in the river what item do many Jews of Tunisia decorate with a colored cloth in this, and place on the Seder table? Answer: A basket
Question: At Passover, the Abayudaya Jews of what country celebrate the anniversary of the overthrow of the brutal dictator Idi Amin, who outlawed the practice of Judaism? Answer: Uganda
Question: At the beginning of the Seder, what do Jews from Morocco pass above their heads three times while reciting "In haste we came out of Egypt”? Answer: A Seder Plate
Question: Tunisian Jews place a fish bowl with live fish swimming in it on the Passover table. Which part of the Exodus story does this commemorate? Answer: The crossing of the Red Sea
Question: What do Iraqi Jews tie to the back of a small child while telling them to guard it until end of the Seder? Answer: The Afikomen
Question: In which country is the Seder “interrupted” by a knock on the door by a member of the family dressed up as a nomad. The leader of the Seder asks: “Where are you coming from?” (Egypt) Where are you going?” (Jerusalem). Answer: Iraq
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According to research done by Be’chol Lashon, 20% of American Jews identify as African American, Latinx, Asian, mixed race, Sephardi and Mizrahi. This year, join us as we celebrate Passover rituals from diverse Jewish communities and traditions.
Download the PDF place cards here: https://werepair.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Passover_Place_Cards.pdf
I speak to you as an American Jew.
As Americans we share the profound concern of millions of people about the shame and disgrace of inequality and injustice which make a mockery of the great American idea.
As Jews we bring to this great demonstration, in which thousands of us proudly participate, a two-fold experience -- one of the spirit and one of our history.
In the realm of the spirit, our fathers taught us thousands of years ago that when God created man, he created him as everybody's neighbor. Neighbor is not a geographic term. It is a moral concept. It means our collective responsibility for the preservation of man's dignity and integrity.
From our Jewish historic experience of three and a half thousand years we say:
Our ancient history began with slavery and the yearning for freedom. During the Middle Ages my people lived for a thousand years in the ghettos of Europe . Our modern history begins with a proclamation of emancipation.
It is for these reasons that it is not merely sympathy and compassion for the black people ofAmerica that motivates us. It is above all and beyond all such sympathies and emotions a sense of complete identification and solidarity born of our own painful historic experience.
When I was the rabbi of the Jewish community in Berlin under the Hitler regime, I learned many things. The most important thing that I learned under those tragic circumstances was that bigotry and hatred are not '.the most urgent problem. The most urgent, the most disgraceful, the most shameful and the most tragic problem is silence.
A great people which had created a great civilization had become a nation of silent onlookers. They remained silent in the face of hate, in the face of brutality and in the face of mass murder.
America must not become a nation of onlookers. America must not remain silent. Not merely black America , but all of America . It must speak up and act,. from the President down to the humblest of us, and not for the sake of the Negro, not for the sake of the black community but for the sake of the image, the idea and the aspiration of America itself.
Our children, yours and mine in every school across the land, each morning pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States and to the republic for which it stands. They, the children, speak fervently and innocently of this land as the land of "liberty and justice for all."
The time, I believe, has come to work together - for it is not enough to hope together, and it is not enough to pray together, to work together that this children's oath, pronounced every morning from Maine to California, from North to South, may become. a glorious, unshakeable reality in a morally renewed and united America.
The Question of Race, Yehuda Hausman
It has been a particularly troubling year for race relations in America. Places like Ferguson, Missouri have become emblematic of a deep and enduring frustration among many people of color: why is it so difficult to communicate to the vast majority of whites just what it feels like to be brown or black -
What is it to be refused a taxi, or shadowed by a clerk in a high-end boutique, what is it to be pulled off the highway, or refused an apartment or a job - all for being black - White women and men have been spared, by accident of birth, from such demeaning experiences.
As we enter Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Sabbath before Passover, the Jewish soul sets out on a journey to rediscover its past. Toward this end, with all that has happened this year, it seemed appropriate to compare Israel's experience of servitude in Egypt with the African-American experience of slavery in this country's lands.
Today's Jew has no immediate memory of the sting of the lash. Yet each Passover, the Children of Israel are commanded to imagine life beneath the fist of Pharaoh. In fact, each day, in our liturgy, we revisit slavery and Exodus during the recitation of Shema. All this may suggest that while the physical wounds of slavery healed long ago, as evidenced by our collective consciousness and a host of memorializing rituals, some scars are ineffaceable.
It is perhaps these ineffaceable scars that have made Jews empathic to the cause of Civil Rights and great activists for social equality throughout the world. However, to believe that every minority suffers (or suffered) the same sort of oppression is itself a form of oppression. Against this end, I would like to suggest that in many ways African-American slaves suffered far more than the Hebrews did in Egypt.
It is true that both African-Americans and Israelites were enslaved for many years. Dr. King was fond of reminding his listeners that the first slave ship arrived on American shores in 1616, several years before the pilgrims arrived at Plymouth Rock on the Mayflower. His goal was to remind black Americans that they had as much right to the bounty of America as any of the white men and women whose ancestors had set sail from European ports.
The length of Israel's enslavement is matter of some debate, one Biblical verse refers to a period of "four generations," another verse speaks of "400 hundred years" and yet another of "430 years." (Gen 15:13,16; Ex. 6; 12:40) However, Israel arrived in Egypt in a manner that was altogether different from African slaves who, stolen from their homes and packed like sardines in slave-ships, many did not survive the trek across the Atlantic. In contrast, Jacob and his clan of seventy souls arrived on royal wagons and were greeted, quite literally, with a King's welcome. (Gen. 46) At Joseph and Pharaoh's behest, they settled in Goshen, a fertile land, and were immediately charged with raising Pharaoh's herds. (Gen. 47)
If African-American slaves had no memory of their ancestors being free in America, the Children of Israel - through Joseph - were immediately integrated into the elite of Egyptian society. Restoring what is lost is a different battle than gaining what one never had.
Another difference. According to the American 'Slaves Codes,' black slaves could not own property, nor were their marriages accepted by many whites. The latter made it easier for white slave owners to break up families. Other plantation owners encouraged marriage so black men would not flee on account of their families. But black adults and children were chattel in every sense of the word. On the other hand, a close reading of the book of Exodus indicates that Israelites were left to marry whomever they liked: Of Moses' parents we read that "a Levite man went forth and took (in marriage) a Levite woman" (Ex. 2.1). It is also quite clear that the Israelites kept many personal possessions. Moses and Pharaoh negotiate at length about Israel's flocks and herds (Ex. 9:4; 10:9,24). Each family had its paschal lamb and a home in which to smear the blood of the Paschal Lamb.
This brings to mind another difference, Pharaoh, was little troubled by the fact that Israel's faith differed from the natives. Even the use of the sacred ram as a sacrifice could be mitigated and permitted if Israel travelled a three-day distance away from Egypt's population centers. (Ex. 8.23) In contrast, Africans slaves were forced to abandon their native religion and compelled to convert to Christianity.
In the aftermath of the U.S. Civil War, the United States offered white pioneers acres upon acres of land to settle in the West. Despite the years of forced servitude, suffering and depravation, black citizens were given nothing in the way of restitution, nor were they even offered the same opportunities given to white pioneers in the late 19th century who went west in droves. In contrast, according to Jewish tradition, Israel plundered Egypt with gusto, taking gold, silver, and cloth. (Ex. 12.35)
A final difference. One can leave to the imagination to what extent the Semitic Israelites differed in appearance from the North-African Egyptians. It would hardly matter because whatever bigotries and prejudices existed among the Egyptians, all of that was left behind during the Exodus. Yet African-Americans had no such Exodus nor were they brought to any Promised Land. After the Civil War they may have been free from slavery, but they were never free from the racism and bigotries of their white neighbors. Left in destitute poverty and illiteracy, African-Americans hardly had the means to better their circumstances.
I will conclude with one common theme. We Americans love to idolize mythologies of self-made men and women. So beholden are we to "bootstrap" movies and books, we tend to forget the old truth that there is no redemption without intervention. The Passover Haggada is emphatic on this point, had it not been for God's outstretched hand, we would still be slaves to Pharaoh. Slavery would have never ended in this country without a President such as Lincoln, who was willing to endure the costs of hundreds of thousands of American lives.
With all the tragedies witnessed this year, perhaps I might suggest a fifth question during this year's seder : what is it like to be black in America - It is the sort of question Pharaoh's daughter most likely asked before she stretched her hand upon the Nile and rescued a little boy.
"We Shall Overcome" is a protest song that became a key anthem of the Civil Rights Movement. The original source of "We Shall Overcome" was a gospel hymn entitled "If My Jesus Wills", composed sometime between 1932 and 1942, and copyrighted in 1954 by African-American Baptist choir director, Louise Shropshire. Shropshire was a close friend, civil rights ally and spiritual confidant of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
We Shall Overcome
We shall overcome, we shall overcome,
We shall overcome someday.
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We shall overcome someday.
We’ll walk hand in hand, we’ll walk hand in hand,
We’ll walk hand in hand someday.
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We shall overcome someday.
We are not afraid, we are not afraid,
We are not afraid today.
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We shall overcome someday.
We shall all be free, we shall all be free,
We shall all be free someday,
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We shall overcome someday.
We shall overcome, we shall overcome,
We shall overcome someday.
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,
We shall overcome someday.
