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TABLE OF CONTENTS
We have come together this evening for many reasons. We are here because spring is all around, the Earth is reborn, and it is a good time to celebrate with family and friends.
We are here because we are Jews and friends of Jews. We are here to honor the Jewish people’s deep historic roots and to remember the story of the liberation of ancient Jews from slavery in Egypt—a great struggle for freedom and dignity.
We are here because the struggle for human freedom never stops. We are here to remember all people who have struggled and are struggling today for their freedom.
Group sings:
Hee-nay ma tov oo-ma na-yeem She-vet a-kheem gam ya-khad.
Behold, how good and pleasant it is for brothers and sisters to live together in unity!
Our Passover meal is called a seder, which means “order” in Hebrew, because of how we retell, step by step, the story of our ancestors’ liberation from slavery in Egypt.
Our Seder celebrates the first liberation struggle of our people, overcoming slavery and proclaiming to the world that the "way things are" is not the only way things can be. In the face of oppression, we proclaimed to the Pharaoh’s empire that there is a force that makes possible the transformation from "what is" to "what ought to be."
At our Seder tonight we celebrate the steps we've taken toward liberation. We look at where we are as a people and individuals in our struggle to build a world of freedom and peace for all.
We remain concerned about structural inequalities that impact everyday lives and aspirations of all people. We want to move forward rather than continue the longstanding economic arrangements that have perpetuated inequalities.
We also recognize that the false equation of "progress" with the perpetual accumulation of material goods damages the planet. Developing solutions and a new vision for the future is the task for spiritual progressives from every religious background.
Although Jewish values support generosity, caring for others, and loving the stranger, we must recognize that within our own communities these values have too often been ignored.
Israel has failed to embody the highest values of the Jewish tradition in the way that it treats our Palestinian brothers and sisters. We must strive to convey the diversity and complexity of our communities’ thoughts and feelings on very challenging conflicts in the Middle East and elsewhere around the world as we actively strive to resolve them. This starts with affirming the dignity and respect each person deserves.
In the United States and around the globe, people struggle for equal access to affordable housing, food, healthcare, voting rights and education. Too often, those we love, and those who are strangers to us, encounter unjust and oppressive policies and systems relating to labor, immigration, marriage and family.
We must use our Seder to begin a conversation about how to create broad social movements for peace, justice, equality and human wellbeing. If we do not make fundamental changes in our domestic and foreign policy, we may find ourselves in deeper despair this time next year. Our Seder must help us plan a way to transform the present, with a strong dose of patience and compassion.
II
Try this one on your tongue: “the poetry of the enemy”
If you read it will you succumb
Will the enemy’s wren fly through your window
and circle your room
Will you smell the herbs hung to dry in the house
he has had to rebuild in words
Would you weaken your will to hear
riffs of the instruments he loves
rustling of rivers remembered
where faucets are dry
“The enemy’s water” is there a phrase
for that in your language?
And you what do you write
now in your abandoned house tuned in
to the broadcasts of horror
under a sagging arbor, dimdumim
do you grope for poetry
to embrace all this
—not describe, embrace staggering
in its arms, Jacob-and-angel-wise?
III
Do you understand why I want your voice?
At the seder table it’s said
you reclined and said nothing
now in the month of Elul is your throat so dry
your dreams so stony
you wake with their grit in your mouth?
There was a beautiful life here once
Our enemies poisoned it?
Make a list of what’s lost but don’t
call it a poem
that’s for the scriptors of nostalgia
bent to their copying-desks
Make a list of what you love well
Twist it insert it
into a bottle of old Roman glass
go to the edge of the sea
at Haifa where the refugee ships lurched in
and the ships of deportation wrenched away
We are gathered here tonight to affirm our continuity with the generations of Jews who kept alive the vision of freedom in the Passover story. We not only remember the Exodus, but actually relive it, bringing its transformative power into our own lives.
The Jewish people, according to the Torah, left Egypt with “a mixed multitude.” We began as a multicultural mélange of people attracted to a vision of social transformation. What makes someone Jewish is not a biological fact, but a willingness to proclaim the message of the ancient enslaved people we remember today: The world can be changed, we can be healed.
Group: As we look toward our future and working to heal the world, we say:
Baruch amal kapainu. Blessed is the work of our hands.
Baruch chazon sheh-b'chol echod. Blessed is the vision of our minds.
Baruch atah Adonai eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, asher kid-shanu b-mitzvotav v-tsivanu lirdof tzedek.
Blessed are the forces that show us paths to righteousness and compel us to pursue justice.
In 1872 Susan B. Anthony said, “It was we, the people, not we, the white male citizens; but we, the whole people, who formed this Union. We formed it not to give the blessings of liberty but to secure them; not to the half of ourselves and the half of our posterity, but to the whole people—women as well as men.”
In 1994 Nelson Mandela said, “The oppressor must be liberated just as surely as the oppressed. A man who takes away my freedom is a prisoner of hatred. He is locked behind the bars of prejudice and narrow-mindedness. I am not free if I am taking away someone else’s freedom, just as surely as I am not free when my freedom is taken away from me. The oppressed and the oppressor alike are robbed of their humanity.”
Adapted from from Silverman, Dara and Micah Bazant. 2003. Love and Justice in Times of War Hagaddah. Quotes from Arnow, David. 2004. Creating Lively Passover Seders.
[First ask children to identify the items on the seder plate, then share:]
Maror and chazeret are bitter herbs, symbolizing the harshness of the slavery, which the Jews endured in Egypt.
Charoset represents the mortar used by the slaves to build the storehouses of Egypt.
Karpas, often parsley, celery or boiled potato, is dipped in salt water, which represents tears and mirrors the pain felt by the slaves in Egypt.
Z'roa, a roasted shankbone or beet, represents the Pesach sacrifice.
Beitzah, a roasted egg, is both a symbol of mourning and sacrifice and a symbol of new life in spring.
We rejoice in the warm light and rich blessings of this season. The celebration of Passover represents the perennial rebirth and survival of our people and the world of nature. The light of these candles symbolizes a renewal of life, a reaffirmation of freedom.
Let us appreciate the life that we share with all beings on Earth. Let us always try to enjoy what is good that the turning year brings us and let us taste each new fruit and vegetable of the season as if we had never eaten it before. Let us experience the people and events in our lives as if they were new to us.
Group sings (traditional)
Baruch atah adonai eloheinu melekhha-olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotov, v'tzivanu lihadlik ner shel yom-tov
Blessed is the force who has sanctified usand commanded us to kindle the festival lights.
Group says(humanist):
Baruch ha-or sheh-b'chol eh-chod. Baruch ha-or b'olam. Baruch ha-or ha-atid.
Blessed is the light in each of us. Blessed is the light that brings joy into the world. Blessed is the light of the future.
Group sings (traditional):
Barukh ata adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, borei p'ri hagafen.
Blessed is the force that created the fruit of the vine.
Barukh ata adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu v'higi'anu laz'man hazeh.
Blessed are the forces that have preserved us alive, sustained us, and brought us to enjoy this season.
Let us raise our cups to signify our gratitude for life. We are awed by all life in the world. We are grateful for the festival days and this feast of the unleavened bread, a time for remembering our departure from Egypt and the value of freedom.
Group says (humanist):
B'rucha ha-a-retz, b'rucha ha-she-mesh, ba-ruch ha-ge-shem, ha-bo-reem p'ree ha-ga-fen.
Blessed be the earth, the sun, and the rain, which bring forth the fruit of the vine.
[Drink first cup of wine in a reclining position.]
Too often during our daily lives we don’t stop and take the moment to prepare for whatever it is we’re about to do. Let's pause as we wash our hands to consider what we hope to get out of our evening together.
[Dip a piece of parsley or other vegetable into salt water and pass around the table.]
Group sings:
Ba-rukhim ha-khayim baolam. Ba-rukhim ha-khayim baadama.Ba-rukhim ha-yotzrim p’ree ha-adamah.
Blessed is the life in the world. Blessed is the life within us. Blessed are those who bring for the fruits of the earth.
[Take the middle Matzah and break it in two, leaving one half between the other two and wrapping the other half in a cloth set aside for Afikomen.]
This is the bread of affliction, which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt. Let all those who are hungry enter and eat thereof, and all those who are in distress come and celebrate the Passover.
Youngest participant (or group) sings:
מַה נִּשְׁתַּנָּה, הַלַּיְלָה הַזֶּה
מִכָּל הַלֵּילוֹת
שֶׁבְּכָל הַלֵּילוֹת אָנוּ אוֹכְלִין
חָמֵץ וּמַצָּה
הַלַּיְלָה הַזֶּה, כֻּלּוֹ מַצָּה
שֶׁבְּכָל הַלֵּילוֹת אָנוּ אוֹכְלִין
שְׁאָר יְרָקוֹת
הַלַּיְלָה הַזֶּה, כֻּלּוֹ מָרוֹר
שֶׁבְּכָל הַלֵּילוֹת אֵין אָנוּ
מַטְבִּילִין אֲפִילוּ פַּעַם אֶחָת
הַלַּיְלָה הַזֶּה, שְׁתֵּי פְעָמִים
שֶׁבְּכָל הַלֵּילוֹת אָנוּ אוֹכְלִין
בֵּין יוֹשְׁבִין וּבֵין מְסֻבִּין
הַלַּיְלָה הַזֶּה, כֻּלָּנוּ מְסֻבִּין
Mah Nishtana halayla hazeh mikol haleylot? Mikol haleylot?
Sheb-ch-ol haleylot anu o-ch-lim ch-ametz umatzah, ch-ametz umatzah.
Halaylah hazeh, halaylah hazeh kulo matzah. (x2)
Sheb-ch-ol haleylot anu o-ch-lim she-ar yerakot. She-ar yerakot.
Halayla hazeh, halayla hazeh maror. (x2)
Sheb-ch-ol haleylot eyn anu matbilin afilu pa-am e-ch-at. Afilu pa-am e-ch-at.
Halayla hazeh, halayla hazeh sh'tae p'amim. (x2)
Sheb-ch-ol haleylot anu o-ch-lim beyn yoshvin uveyn mesubin. Beyn yoshvin uveyn mesubin.
Halayla hazeh, halayla hazeh kulanu mesubin. (x2)
How is this night distinguished from all other nights? Any other night we may either leavened or unleavened bread, but on this night only unleavened bread. All other nights we may not eat any species of herbs, but this night only bitter herbs. All other nights we do not dip even once, but on this night twice. All other nights we eat and drink either sitting or reclining, but on this night all of us recline.
Because none of us would be here today if we were not free, and because so many millions of people throughout history and today have struggled towards freedom, it is incumbent upon us to speak of the departure from Egypt.
Our tradition speaks of four children who each come to celebrate Passover in different ways: the wise, the mischievous, the simple, and the one who doesn’t yet know how ask about Pesach.
What says the wise child? That child asks, “What are these testimonies, statutes, and judgments we learn about through the Passover story? You shall discuss with that child the order and meaning of the seder.
What says the mischievous child? That child asks, “What do you mean by this seder?” By using the word “you” and not “we,” the child is not including him or herself in the community. For this child, you shall affirm, “This is done because we must remember and learn from our people’s journey to freedom.”
What says the simple child? This child asks, “What is this?” You shall tell that child, “This is the story of our journey to freedom.”
As for the child who is not yet able to inquire about the seder you shall relate the story of when our people went forth from Egypt.
On Passover, Jews are commanded to tell the story of the Exodus and to see ourselves as having lived through that story, so that we may better learn how to live our lives today. This is a story that has inspired communities across the world as they have searched for Freedom
The stories we tell our children shape what they believe to be possible. On Passover it is imperative that the story we tell includes the crucial role of five brave women that many Passover narratives fail to even mention by name. Tonight we will hear about Yocheved and Miriam, Moshe’s mother and sister; Shifra and Puah, the famous midwives; and Batya, the Pharaoh’s daughter.
The Book of Exodus, much like the Book of Genesis, opens in pervasive darkness, as a new Pharaoh ascends to the throne and enslaves the Jewish people out of fear. While there is much light in today’s world, there remains a disheartening darkness, inhumanity spawned by ignorance and hate. The Passover story recalls to all of us that with vision and action we can join hands with others of like mind, kindling lights along paths to a brighter future.
According to the Torah, our ancestor Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers and became valuable to Pharaoh for his astute economic predictions and ability to administer before and during severe famine. Because of his skills, his people were welcomed.
When new rulers came to power the Jewish people fell out of favor and were enslaved. Their vineyards and fields were confiscated, work quotas were increased, families were separated. Despite these hardships, the Jewish people survived and grew in numbers.
The new Pharaoh became concerned that the Jewish people were too numerous and powerful, and could unite with Mitzrayim’s enemies to rise against them. He decreed that all of the sons of the Jewish people should be drowned in the Nile, but not all followed his cruel decree. The midwives Shifrah and Puah defied his order and helped Jewish women safely deliver their babies.
A year after the Pharaoh’s decree, a Jewish woman named Yochevet gave birth to a baby boy. The next morning, to save her new baby’s life, Yochevet placed him in a basket and gave the basket to his sister Miriam to take the river. While Miriam hid in the tall grasses, the river floated her new brother downstream past the very place the Pharaoh’s daughter went swimming every morning.
Pharaoh’s daughter, Batya, found the child, drew him from the water and said, “I will raise you but who will feed you?” Miriam emerged from her hiding place and said, “I know a good woman, Yochevet, who will nurse him.” Batya agreed and said, “Bring him to me when he is weaned; he will be as my own son for I have no other. I will call him Moshe because I brought him from the river’s water.”
Growing up, Moshe was restless, not at ease in his palace home and not at peace with the Pharaoh. He would often go out walking—watching and listening. He was a lonely boy with no peers, heir to the Pharaoh, honest and compassionate.
Moshe was troubled by what he saw around him and tried to ease the burdens of the workers. He questioned, “Who are these Jews to me? Who are these workers, these slaves? Why must we be so brutal?”
One day—in fury confusion—the young, idealistic, impulsive Moshe killed a taskmaster who beat a slave. He fled in pain to the desert, through barren hills and over-dried riverbeds, beyond the Jordan River.
Moshe arrived at and stayed many years in Midian. He married Tzeporah and had children. He tended flocks in the wilderness. Life there was good, and yet he never forgot Mitzrayim and the people enslaved there.
One day, while grazing his flock and gazing out on the vastness of the desert, he envisioned a bush that burned and burned, but did not burn up. And he heard a voice, saying to him what he knew to be true—that the people in his memories were his own people; that he should return to them and together they would find a way to be free.
Moshe left his life and family in Midian and returned to Mitzrayim. There, the Jews were hungry, tired, angry and beginning to organize, talking of rebellion and escape. Moshe went to Pharaoh and asked him to free the Jews, warning that otherwise great suffering would come to the land of Mitzrayim.
Pharaoh refused and plagues were brought on the land, one at a time. Each time Moses said, “Let my people go!” but the Pharaoh wouldn’t listen. Finally, after the 10th plague, which killed the first-born in each family of Pharaoh’s kingdom, Pharaoh ordered the Jews to leave. And they did, very quickly, taking only their journey food, matzah.
Yet Pharaoh had a change of heart and mobilized his forces to recapture the fleeing slaves. The chariots reached the Jews when they were nearing the shores of the Red Sea. They turned around to see the army of the Egyptians bearing down on them and they were filled with fear.
They turned on Moshe for bringing them to this impasse. But, it is said that one man, Nachson, took a risk and walked into the sea, and the waters divided. In doing this he acted as a free person. Only after Nakhzon and those who followed him had made their first break with slavery, did the waters divide, let the fleeing people through, and then drown the army of the Pharaoh.
We remember the message of Psalm 114: When the Jewish people went out of Egypt, they sought a new place, as people of a foreign language. As they fled, the sea saw their plight and parted. The mountains skipped like rams, the hills like lambs. Why do you flee, oh sea? Mountains, why do you skip like rams, and you hills like lambs? The power of this moment was enough to turn stone into a spring of water.
The courage to let go of the door, the handle.
The courage to shed the familiar walls whose very
stains and leaks are comfortable as the little moles
of the upper arm; stains that recall a feast,
a child’s naughtiness, a loud blattering storm
that slapped the roof hard, pouring through.
[...]
the courage to desert the tree planted and only
begun to bear; the riverside where promises were
shaped; the street where their empty pots were broken.
The courage to leave the place whose language you learned
as early as your own, whose customs however dan-
gerous or demeaning, bind you like a halter
you have learned to pull inside, to move your load;
the land fertile with the blood spilled on it;
the roads mapped and annotated for survival.
The courage to walk out of the pain that is known
into the pain that cannot be imagined,
mapless, walking into the wilderness, going
barefoot with a canteen into the desert;
stuffed in the stinking hold of a rotting ship
sailing off the map into dragons’ mouths,
[...]
out of pain into death or freedom or a different
painful dignity, into squalor and politics.
We Jews are all born of wanderers, with shoes
under our pillows and a memory of blood that is ours
raining down. We honor only those Jews who changed
tonight, those who chose the desert over bondage,
who walked into the strange and became strangers
and gave birth to children who could look down
on them standing on their shoulders for having
been slaves. We honor those who let go of every-
thing but freedom, who ran, who revolted, who fought,
who became other by saving themselves.
The Jews never forgot the price that the people of Mitzrayim paid for their freedom. We remember tonight by spilling out a drop of wine from our cups as we recite the plagues one by one. In this way we diminish our pleasure, as the suffering of others diminishes our joy.
The Plagues
ָּםד Dam Blood
ְפַרְדֵּעֽצ Tzefardea Frogs
כִּנִּים Kinim Lice
עָרוֹב Arov Wild animals
דֶּבֽר. Dever Pestilence
שְׁחִין. Sh’chin Boils
בָּרָד. Barad Hail
אַרְבֶּה. Arbeh Locusts
חֹֽשֶׁךְ. Choshech Darkness
מַכַּת בְּכוֹרוֹת Makat Bechorot. Death of the firstborn.
Group sings (traditional):
Barukh ata adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, borei p'ri hagafen.
Let us raise our cups again to signify our gratitude for life. We are awed by all life in the world. We are grateful for the festival days and this feast of the unleavened bread, a time for remembering our departure from Egypt and the value of freedom.
[Drink second cup of wine.]
Ilu ho-tsi, ho-tsi-a-nu,
Ho-tsi-a-nu mi-Mitz-ra-yim,
Ho-tsi-a-nu mi-Mitz-ra-yim,
Da-ye-nu!
Dai, da-ye-nu (x8)
Ilu na-tan, na-tan la-nu,
Na-tan la-nu et-ha-Sha-bat,
Na-tan la-nu et-ha-Sha-bat,
Da-ye-nu!
Dai, da-ye-nu (x8)
Ilu na-tan, na-tan la-nu,
Na-tan la-nu et-ha-To-rah,
Na-tan la-nu et-ha-To-rah,
Da-ye-nu!
Dai, da-ye-nu (x8)…
Had he brought all of us out from Egypt, then it would have been enough.
Had he judged just the Egyptians, not their idols, then it would have been enough.
Had he destroyed all the idols, and not smitten their first-born, then it would have been enough…
When governments end the escalating production of devastating weapons, secure in the knowledge that they will not be necessary, Dayenu.
When all women and men are allowed to make their own decisions on matters regarding their own bodies and personal relationships without discrimination or legal consequences, Dayenu.
When children grow up in freedom, without hunger, and with the love and support they need to realize their full potential, Dayenu.
When the air, water, fellow creatures and beautiful world are protected for the benefit and enjoyment of all and given priority over development for the sake of profit, Dayenu.
When people of all ages, sexes, races, religions, sexual orientations, cultures and nations respect and appreciate one another, Dayenu.
When each person can say, "This year, I worked as hard as I could toward improving the world so that all people can experience the joy and freedom I feel sitting here tonight at the seder table," Dayenu v'lo Dayenu - It will and will not be enough.
Group sings [while one person washes hands at table]:
Barukh ata adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olamasher kid-shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzeevanu al n’teelat yah-dayim.
Blessed is the force that sanctifies us with the commandment to wash our hands.
Matzah – why do we eat it during Pesach? We eat it because the dough of our ancestors did not have time to become leavened before they fled from Egypt. It is said, “They baked unleavened cakes of the dough they brought with them out of Egypt. They could not tarry and had not made special provisions for themselves.
Bitter herbs – why do we eat them during Pesach? We eat them because the Egyptians embittered the lives of our ancestors in Egypt. It is said, “They embittered their lives with hard bondage, in mortar and brick, and in all manner of labor in the field.”
In every generation we are each bound to regard ourselves as if we had personally gone forth from Egypt, to remember that struggle and the meaning and responsibilities of freedom. We celebrate moving from slavery to freedom, sorrow to joy, mourning to festivity, and servitude to redemption. Hallelujah!
Group sings (traditional):
Barukh ata adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, ha-motzi lechem meen ha-aretz.
Blessed it the force that brings forth bread from the earth.
Barukh ata adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, asher kid d’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzeevanu al akheelat matzah.
Blessed is the force that has sanctified us with the commandment to eat unleavened bread.
Group sings (traditional):
Barukh ata adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, asher kid d’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzeevanu al akheelat maror.
Blessed is the force that has sanctified us with the commandment to eat bitter herbs.
(Adapted from Sebastian Greenholtz)
In keeping with the custom instituted by Hillel, the great Talmudic sage, we now eat a sandwich of matzah and maror.
Break off two pieces of the bottom matzah. Again, take bitter herbs and dip them in the charoset. Place this between the two pieces of matzah and eat the sandwich while reclining.
The prophet Isaiah said: They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not take up sword against nation, they shall never again know war. But they shall sit every one under their vines and fig trees, and none shall make them afraid.
Group sings:
Lo yisa goy el goy cherev. Lo yil'medu od milchamah.(x2)
The swords have not yet been put aside, and the time of the plowshare and the pruning hooks is still to come. But the journey has begun.
Group says:
B'rucha ha-a-retz, b'rucha ha-she-mesh, ba-ruch ha-ge-shem, ha-bo-reem p'ree ha-ga-fen.
Blessed be the earth, the sun, and the rain, which bring forth the fruit of the vine.
[Drink third cup of wine.]
Group sings:
Hine mah tov u-ma-nayim shevet amim gam yakhad.
How good and pleasing it is when people can sit together in unity.
By placing a cup of wine on the seder table and opening the door after our festive meal we recognize the legend that the prophet Elijah visits every seder table to announce the coming of redemption. The cup of Elijah is a symbol of hope that the world, now broken, will one day be healed, and that all people can play a role in that redemption.
By placing a cup of water on the seder table we rememberMiriam the prophet, who legend says danced at the Sea of Reeds to celebrate the Exodus. It is said that a well of fresh water followed her in the desert so the Jewish people always had water to drink.
Where Elijah represents the movement of history and path to redemption, Miriam represents ongoing healing, renewal and sustenance. Elijah is time, Miriam is place. Elijah is the mountain, Miriam is the sea.
Let us open the door for Elijah and sing: Eiliyahu Hanavi, Eliahu hatishbi, Eliahu, Eliahu, Eliahu hagiladi. Bimhera biyamenu, yavo aylenu, Im Mashiach ben David, Im Mashiach ben David.
For Miriam, we lift our water glasses and say: Zot be’er Miriam, kos mayim chayim. This is the well of Miriam, the cup of living waters.
Let us bless our lives by fostering community;by sharing our joy, our spirit, and our bounty; by welcoming the stranger;by caring for those in need.Let us bless the wine as a symbol of the good in the world.Let us drink a toast with the fruit of the vine: "To Life!"
Group sings:
N'-varekh`et ha-yayin
k'ot la-tov she-ba-olam
Nishteh 'et p'ri ha-gaphen. L'hayim!
In every generation, we all should feel as though we ourselves had gone forth from Egypt. We end our Passover Seder by saying in unison:
May slavery give way to freedom.
May hate give way to love.
May ignorance give way to wisdom.
May despair give way to hope.
Next year, at this time, may everyone, everywhere, be free!
We are, each of us, working to meet challenges in our lives, but we are grateful to be here together for tonight’s seder. Wherever the next year takes us, we look forward to celebrating Pesach again, together with the friends and family—new and long beloved.
One morning when Pharaoh woke in his bed
There were frogs in his bed and frogs on his head
Frogs on his nose and frogs on his toes
Frogs here. Frogs there. Frogs were jumping everywhere!
Chad gadya, chad gadya.
dizabin aba bitrei zuzei,
chad gadya, chad gadya.
Va'ata shunra,
ve'achla legadya
dizabin aba bitrei zuzei,
chad gadya, chad gadya.
Va'ata chalba,
venashach leshunra
de'achla legadya
dizabin aba bitrei zuzei,
chad gadya, chad gadya. [...]
One little goat, one little goat.
That Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came a cat
and ate the goat,
That Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat.
Then came a dog
and bit the cat,
that ate the goat,
That Father bought for two zuzim,
one little goat, one little goat. [...]
