בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעולָם אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְותָיו וְצִוָּנוּ לַעֲסוק בְּדִבְרֵי תורָה:
Blessing for Torah Study
Barukh Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh Ha'Olam Asher Kideshanu Bemitzvotav Vetzivanu La'asok Bedivrei Torah
Blessed are you Adonai, our God, Sovereign of Eternity, who has made us holy through Your mitzvot (sacred calls) and called upon us to immerse ourselves in the words of Torah.
- What are we looking at?
- How did it get here?
- What do we do with it?
- Introduce yourself
- Would like to hear about your experience of Seders. What are they for you? What features stand out? Any particular memories?
- What more, if anything, do you hope for out of a seder? How would you like to improve your seder experience?
- What Haggadah do you typically use?
Vanessa L. Ochs
The Haggadah’s life as a liturgical text came about to fulfill a biblical injunction to fathers to tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt to their children (literally, to their sons): “And you shall tell your son on that day, ‘It is because of what the Lord did for me when I went free from Egypt’” (Exodus 13:8). For those Jewish men who lacked children, their students could fill in; for the childless without students, wives would do. Persons all alone could still tell the story to themselves, asking the questions and answering them, too. Transmit that memory of holy history as if it happened to you, as if you were there yourself among the children of Israel. Its essence: we were slaves, God rescued us once from degradation and brought us to freedom as a nation, and we are as grateful now as we were then. The moral: cherish freedom, or, lacking it, seek it out. And trust: the next redemption, however bleak the current moment, may be just around the bend. Transmit that memory of oppression captivatingly enough so the story attaches itself to the moral imagination. The memory of belonging to a people who knew slavery and then liberation should enliven so much empathy that one cannot help but feel responsible for helping others to achieve their own liberation.
Lawrence A. Hoffman
Liturgy in general is sacred drama--sacred because of the way it is "performed" and the personal stake the performers have in performing it. It is clearly "theater": people play roles (getting an aliyah, opening the ark), they wear costumes (tallit and kippah), and they have assigned lines to chant or read out loud. Unlike ordinary drama, however, it is not performed for an audience. The performers and audience are one and the same. They do not just "play" the roles; they are the roles, and they take the roles so seriously that they internalize them as their identities. When the actress playing Lady Macbeth leaves the theater, she is not expected to murder someone on the way home; when Jews put down their Haggadah, they are expected to have a heightened sense of Jewish identity and to be more attuned to their Jewish responsibilities. People, that is, who leave the Seder and ignore the plight of the homeless have missed the point...
Dramas have shape and direction; they tell stories that establish a problem and then solve it in the end. The Haggadah presents the foundational story of how we got here, and as its problem, it asks, implicitly, why it matters, if the Jewish People continues. Each year demands its own compelling solution. That is why its script remains open and why, also, we have to reenact it year after year. If it comes out exactly the same as the year before, we have failed our dramatic duty. If we finish the Seder knowing for certain why the age-old tale of Israel's origins informs the people we are and the lives we pledge to lead, then, and only then, can we conclude Dayyenu--that... is enough.
Neil Gillman
The Passover Seder is a class with the Haggadah as textbook and the Seder leader as primary instructior. This metaphor stems from the notion that the mitzvah to be fulfilled at the Seder is to tell the story of our people's redemption from bondage. The method of instruction is thoroughly up-to-date in that it uses not only words but also choreography (sitting and standing, opening and closing doors, holding up different symbolic foods, searching for the afikoman) and other forms of experiential learning (consuming different foods, dripping the wine with our fingers, and music). Also unusual is that the participants can be both students and teachers; the learning is thoroughly democratic, as befits the experience of freedom.
The haggadah textbook, moreover, is never complete; it is always in the process of formation. The printed text is simply the point of departure, and every class is encouraged to edit the book as the class progresses, to omit and/or to add to the received text. Though each Seder is roughly the same, no two are identical, and even the same family's Seder may change from year to year as the participants change.
Marc Brettler
The Haggadah is, of course, by and large a retelling of the biblical story of Exodus from Egypt. It quotes and paraphrases many biblical passages, yet, it is far from a representative summary of the biblical stories; instead, it is a particular selection of these texts. It is much like looking at an image using a filter that highlights particular features while making others disappear. The bulk of the Haggadah is from the classical rabbinic period, so it uses a classical rabbinic filter.
Filtering is... seen in the insistence that the firstborn were killed by God rather than an angel. Exodus 12:23 makes it very clear that beside God, there was some agent called “the Destroyer” involved: “Adonai will protect the door and not let the Destroyer enter and smite your home.” But that perspective is filtered out, perhaps in a desire to give God more power or to conform to rabbinic notions of monotheism.
The most famous filtering, of course, concerns the protagonist of the story. In the Bible, God and Moses often work in tandem; this is seen , for example, in the very striking verse after the parting of the sea in Exodus 14:31, “they had faith in Adonai and His servant Moses.” Except for his presence once in a biblical quote, however, Moses is absent from the Haggadah- he is filtered out. The Haggadah is, therefore, not so much a retelling of the Exodus story as it is a reworking of the biblical texts as seen through a classical rabbinic filter.
Vanessa L. Ochs
The Haggadah has no single author and no single editor. From the time of “tell your child,” spanning oral to written cultures, the Haggadah has grown into a commonplace book chronicling generations of verbal, illustrative, and ritual strategies that were considered, in their times and in their places, suitable for the task of transmission. Recite this! Teach that! Imbibe and ingest the sweet fruit and nut paste called charoset, the bitter herbs, the springy greens, the flat-crunchy matzah! Remember worse times, pray for better ones! Told with bursts of eloquence, courtesy of the psalms recited before and after the meal, and climaxing in loveable cumulative ditties, the assemblage of direction, prayer, and teaching became codified along the way. It has made for a night of dinner theater, in which cast and audience are one and the same as they utter, “It is because of what the Lord did for me when I went forth from Egypt” (Exodus 13:8). From the very start, qualities such as deep empathy, flexibility, fluidity, and personalization were attached to this practice of oral transmission performed communally and intergenerationally. If the gambit worked, heritage and obligation would be transmitted. The newest generation would know what their parents had known: how to remember their way into tribal belonging. Come the next year, the initiation would be repeated with age-appropriate nods to children’s growing skills, attention spans, and possible alienation, and thus, membership and the experience of belonging would be intensified.
(א) וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֣ה וְאֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֔ן בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרַ֖יִם לֵאמֹֽר׃ (ב) הַחֹ֧דֶשׁ הַזֶּ֛ה לָכֶ֖ם רֹ֣אשׁ חֳדָשִׁ֑ים רִאשׁ֥וֹן הוּא֙ לָכֶ֔ם לְחׇדְשֵׁ֖י הַשָּׁנָֽה׃ (ג) דַּבְּר֗וּ אֶֽל־כׇּל־עֲדַ֤ת יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר בֶּעָשֹׂ֖ר לַחֹ֣דֶשׁ הַזֶּ֑ה וְיִקְח֣וּ לָהֶ֗ם אִ֛ישׁ שֶׂ֥ה לְבֵית־אָבֹ֖ת שֶׂ֥ה לַבָּֽיִת׃ (ד) וְאִם־יִמְעַ֣ט הַבַּ֘יִת֮ מִהְי֣וֹת מִשֶּׂה֒ וְלָקַ֣ח ה֗וּא וּשְׁכֵנ֛וֹ הַקָּרֹ֥ב אֶל־בֵּית֖וֹ בְּמִכְסַ֣ת נְפָשֹׁ֑ת אִ֚ישׁ לְפִ֣י אׇכְל֔וֹ תָּכֹ֖סּוּ עַל־הַשֶּֽׂה׃ (ה) שֶׂ֥ה תָמִ֛ים זָכָ֥ר בֶּן־שָׁנָ֖ה יִהְיֶ֣ה לָכֶ֑ם מִן־הַכְּבָשִׂ֥ים וּמִן־הָעִזִּ֖ים תִּקָּֽחוּ׃ (ו) וְהָיָ֤ה לָכֶם֙ לְמִשְׁמֶ֔רֶת עַ֣ד אַרְבָּעָ֥ה עָשָׂ֛ר י֖וֹם לַחֹ֣דֶשׁ הַזֶּ֑ה וְשָׁחֲט֣וּ אֹת֗וֹ כֹּ֛ל קְהַ֥ל עֲדַֽת־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל בֵּ֥ין הָעַרְבָּֽיִם׃ (ז) וְלָֽקְחוּ֙ מִן־הַדָּ֔ם וְנָ֥תְנ֛וּ עַל־שְׁתֵּ֥י הַמְּזוּזֹ֖ת וְעַל־הַמַּשְׁק֑וֹף עַ֚ל הַבָּ֣תִּ֔ים אֲשֶׁר־יֹאכְל֥וּ אֹת֖וֹ בָּהֶֽם׃ (ח) וְאָכְל֥וּ אֶת־הַבָּשָׂ֖ר בַּלַּ֣יְלָה הַזֶּ֑ה צְלִי־אֵ֣שׁ וּמַצּ֔וֹת עַל־מְרֹרִ֖ים יֹאכְלֻֽהוּ׃ (ט) אַל־תֹּאכְל֤וּ מִמֶּ֙נּוּ֙ נָ֔א וּבָשֵׁ֥ל מְבֻשָּׁ֖ל בַּמָּ֑יִם כִּ֣י אִם־צְלִי־אֵ֔שׁ רֹאשׁ֥וֹ עַל־כְּרָעָ֖יו וְעַל־קִרְבּֽוֹ׃ (י) וְלֹא־תוֹתִ֥ירוּ מִמֶּ֖נּוּ עַד־בֹּ֑קֶר וְהַנֹּתָ֥ר מִמֶּ֛נּוּ עַד־בֹּ֖קֶר בָּאֵ֥שׁ תִּשְׂרֹֽפוּ׃
(יא) וְכָ֘כָה֮ תֹּאכְל֣וּ אֹתוֹ֒ מׇתְנֵיכֶ֣ם חֲגֻרִ֔ים נַֽעֲלֵיכֶם֙ בְּרַגְלֵיכֶ֔ם וּמַקֶּלְכֶ֖ם בְּיֶדְכֶ֑ם וַאֲכַלְתֶּ֤ם אֹתוֹ֙ בְּחִפָּז֔וֹן פֶּ֥סַח ה֖וּא לַיהֹוָֽה׃ (יב) וְעָבַרְתִּ֣י בְאֶֽרֶץ־מִצְרַ֘יִם֮ בַּלַּ֣יְלָה הַזֶּה֒ וְהִכֵּיתִ֤י כׇל־בְּכוֹר֙ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם מֵאָדָ֖ם וְעַד־בְּהֵמָ֑ה וּבְכׇל־אֱלֹהֵ֥י מִצְרַ֛יִם אֶֽעֱשֶׂ֥ה שְׁפָטִ֖ים אֲנִ֥י יְהֹוָֽה׃ (יג) וְהָיָה֩ הַדָּ֨ם לָכֶ֜ם לְאֹ֗ת עַ֤ל הַבָּתִּים֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר אַתֶּ֣ם שָׁ֔ם וְרָאִ֙יתִי֙ אֶת־הַדָּ֔ם וּפָסַחְתִּ֖י עֲלֵכֶ֑ם וְלֹֽא־יִֽהְיֶ֨ה בָכֶ֥ם נֶ֙גֶף֙ לְמַשְׁחִ֔ית בְּהַכֹּתִ֖י בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם׃
(יד) וְהָיָה֩ הַיּ֨וֹם הַזֶּ֤ה לָכֶם֙ לְזִכָּר֔וֹן וְחַגֹּתֶ֥ם אֹת֖וֹ חַ֣ג לַֽיהֹוָ֑ה לְדֹרֹ֣תֵיכֶ֔ם חֻקַּ֥ת עוֹלָ֖ם תְּחׇגֻּֽהוּ׃ (טו) שִׁבְעַ֤ת יָמִים֙ מַצּ֣וֹת תֹּאכֵ֔לוּ אַ֚ךְ בַּיּ֣וֹם הָרִאשׁ֔וֹן תַּשְׁבִּ֥יתוּ שְּׂאֹ֖ר מִבָּתֵּיכֶ֑ם כִּ֣י ׀ כׇּל־אֹכֵ֣ל חָמֵ֗ץ וְנִכְרְתָ֞ה הַנֶּ֤פֶשׁ הַהִוא֙ מִיִּשְׂרָאֵ֔ל מִיּ֥וֹם הָרִאשֹׁ֖ן עַד־י֥וֹם הַשְּׁבִעִֽי׃ (טז) וּבַיּ֤וֹם הָרִאשׁוֹן֙ מִקְרָא־קֹ֔דֶשׁ וּבַיּוֹם֙ הַשְּׁבִיעִ֔י מִקְרָא־קֹ֖דֶשׁ יִהְיֶ֣ה לָכֶ֑ם כׇּל־מְלָאכָה֙ לֹא־יֵעָשֶׂ֣ה בָהֶ֔ם אַ֚ךְ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יֵאָכֵ֣ל לְכׇל־נֶ֔פֶשׁ ה֥וּא לְבַדּ֖וֹ יֵעָשֶׂ֥ה לָכֶֽם׃ (יז) וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם֮ אֶת־הַמַּצּוֹת֒ כִּ֗י בְּעֶ֙צֶם֙ הַיּ֣וֹם הַזֶּ֔ה הוֹצֵ֥אתִי אֶת־צִבְאוֹתֵיכֶ֖ם מֵאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרָ֑יִם וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֞ם אֶת־הַיּ֥וֹם הַזֶּ֛ה לְדֹרֹתֵיכֶ֖ם חֻקַּ֥ת עוֹלָֽם׃ (יח) בָּרִאשֹׁ֡ן בְּאַרְבָּעָה֩ עָשָׂ֨ר י֤וֹם לַחֹ֙דֶשׁ֙ בָּעֶ֔רֶב תֹּאכְל֖וּ מַצֹּ֑ת עַ֠ד י֣וֹם הָאֶחָ֧ד וְעֶשְׂרִ֛ים לַחֹ֖דֶשׁ בָּעָֽרֶב׃ (יט) שִׁבְעַ֣ת יָמִ֔ים שְׂאֹ֕ר לֹ֥א יִמָּצֵ֖א בְּבָתֵּיכֶ֑ם כִּ֣י ׀ כׇּל־אֹכֵ֣ל מַחְמֶ֗צֶת וְנִכְרְתָ֞ה הַנֶּ֤פֶשׁ הַהִוא֙ מֵעֲדַ֣ת יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל בַּגֵּ֖ר וּבְאֶזְרַ֥ח הָאָֽרֶץ׃ (כ) כׇּל־מַחְמֶ֖צֶת לֹ֣א תֹאכֵ֑לוּ בְּכֹל֙ מוֹשְׁבֹ֣תֵיכֶ֔ם תֹּאכְל֖וּ מַצּֽוֹת׃ {פ}
(1) The LORD said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: (2) This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you. (3) Speak to the whole community of Israel and say that on the tenth of this month each of them shall take a lamb to a family, a lamb to a household. (4) But if the household is too small for a lamb, let him share one with a neighbor who dwells nearby, in proportion to the number of persons: you shall contribute for the lamb according to what each household will eat. (5) Your lamb shall be without blemish, a yearling male; you may take it from the sheep or from the goats. (6) You shall keep watch over it until the fourteenth day of this month; and all the assembled congregation of the Israelites shall slaughter it at twilight. (7) They shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they are to eat it. (8) They shall eat the flesh that same night; they shall eat it roasted over the fire, with unleavened bread and with bitter herbs. (9) Do not eat any of it raw, or cooked in any way with water, but roasted—head, legs, and entrails—over the fire. (10) You shall not leave any of it over until morning; if any of it is left until morning, you shall burn it.
(11) This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly: it is a passover offering to the LORD. (12) For that night I will go through the land of Egypt and strike down every first-born in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and I will mete out punishments to all the gods of Egypt, I the LORD. (13) And the blood on the houses where you are staying shall be a sign for you: when I see the blood I will pass over you, so that no plague will destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt.
(14) This day shall be to you one of remembrance: you shall celebrate it as a festival to the LORD throughout the ages; you shall celebrate it as an institution for all time. (15) Seven days you shall eat unleavened bread; on the very first day you shall remove leaven from your houses, for whoever eats leavened bread from the first day to the seventh day, that person shall be cut off from Israel. (16) You shall celebrate a sacred occasion on the first day, and a sacred occasion on the seventh day; no work at all shall be done on them; only what every person is to eat, that alone may be prepared for you. (17) You shall observe the [Feast of] Unleavened Bread, for on this very day I brought your ranks out of the land of Egypt; you shall observe this day throughout the ages as an institution for all time. (18) In the first month, from the fourteenth day of the month at evening, you shall eat unleavened bread until the twenty-first day of the month at evening. (19) No leaven shall be found in your houses for seven days. For whoever eats what is leavened, that person shall be cut off from the community of Israel, whether he is a stranger or a citizen of the country. (20) You shall eat nothing leavened; in all your settlements you shall eat unleavened bread.
Vanessa L. Ochs
Even before this hurried meal is consumed and the horrible night of waiting to depart begins, the Israelites learn something astonishing. For the rest of all time, they will be remembering both a ritual they have yet to perform and a liberation they have yet to experience. Before surviving a harrowing escape, enduring trials during the years of desert wandering, and coming into a promised land, even before they have performed the ritual even once, they are instructed to prepare to commit it to memory and to repeat it for all of time. This anticipated practice of a less hurried, symbolic meal is called the Passover of the Generations. Fusing one ritual for now, and one for the time to come, presages, as David Stern puts it, a “dramatic collapsing of time—past, present, and future—that . . . marks much of the inner dynamics of both the seder and the Haggadah as they subsequently develop.”
The biblical passover must have evolved from the fusion of two ancient types of sacrifice: pesach, exemplifying pastoral bounty, and matzot, representing agrarian abundance.
You shall leave it before the LORD your God and bow low before the LORD your God.
The insistence that the Passover should be a sacrifice performed at the central sanctuary- of all places- completely annuls its original identity as a slaughter that took place at the threshold of the family domicile. The authors of Deuteronomy remove the rite’s original clan focus to make it instead of the constitutive national holiday, with each family observing it simultaneously at the central sanctuary. Passover, as the holiday in which the family members were originally forbidden from leaving their residence, under pain of death, now becomes an observance which the citizens are forbidden to celebrate at home.
שְׁלשָׁה שֶׁאָכְלוּ עַל שֻׁלְחָן אֶחָד וְאָמְרוּ עָלָיו דִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה, כְּאִלּוּ אָכְלוּ מִשֻּׁלְחָנוֹ שֶׁל מָקוֹם בָּרוּךְ הוּא, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (יחזקאל מא) וַיְדַבֵּר אֵלַי זֶה הַשֻּׁלְחָן אֲשֶׁר לִפְנֵי ה':
If three have eaten at one table, and have spoken there words of Torah, [it is] as if they had eaten at the table of the All-Present, blessed be He, as it is said, “And He said unto me, ‘this is the table before the Lord’” (Ezekiel 41:22).
חייב אדם [לעסוק בהלכות הפסח] כל הלילה אפילו בינו לבין בנו אפילו בינו לבין עצמו אפילו בינו לבין תלמידו
A man is obligated to be involved with the laws of Pesach the whole night, even if it [is only a discussion] between him and his son, even if it is between him and himself, even if it is between him and his student.
The attendants poured the second cup for the leader of the seder, and here the child asks the parent. And if the child does not have the knowledge, the parent teaches them. Why is this night different from all other nights? As on all other nights we eat leavened bread and matza, on this night all is matza. As on all other nights we eat other vegetables; on this night we eat bitter herbs. As on all other nights we eat either roasted, stewed, or cooked meat, but on this night all roasted. As on all other nights we dip once; however, on this night we dip twice. And according to the knowledge of the child, the parent teaches them. The parent begins with disgrace and concludes with glory. And he expounds from the passage: “My father was a fugitive aramean” (Deuteronomy 26:5), until he concludes the entire section.
אַבָּיֵי הֲוָה יָתֵיב קַמֵּיהּ דְּרַבָּה, חֲזָא דְּקָא מַדְלִי תַּכָּא מִקַּמֵּיהּ, אֲמַר לְהוּ: עֲדַיִין לָא קָא אָכְלִינַן, אָתוּ קָא מְעַקְּרִי תַּכָּא מִיקַּמַּן?! אֲמַר לֵיהּ רַבָּה: פְּטַרְתַּן מִלּוֹמַר ״מָה נִּשְׁתַּנָּה״.
Abaye was sitting before Rabba when he was still a child. He saw that they were removing the table from before him, and he said to those removing it: We have not yet eaten, and you are taking the table away from us? Rabba said to him: You have exempted us from reciting the questions of: Why is this night different [ma nishtana], as you have already asked what is special about the seder night.
The Mishnah’s instruction to expound within a set biblical framework and to adjust one’s exposition in response to the evolving maturity of the audience maintained freshness in a religious milieu that clearly appreciated the dangers of staleness.
It is the nature of ritual to become repetitive, and repetition means fixity. But rituals have different kinds of scripts that range from the relatively open to the relatively closed. Completely closed scripts allow no change. Completely open rituals stop being rituals. Cultures vary with regard to what they prefer. Temple culture was closed. As we saw, the Pilgrims’ Prayer was precisely scripted. Rabbinic culture, however, allowed greater openness in some rituals because it was predicated on a belief in the Oral Torah side by side with the Written Torah. An element of openness was essential for the interpretation of written Torah in light of how rabbis from different times and places—not to mention different personalities—understood the oral Torah. So the Mishnaic seder is closed-scripted enough to be ritual but open-scripted enough to emphasize the whole point of rabbinic Judaism: that Judaism is not a closed book, but an ever-evolving enterprise of interpretation mediated by the rabbinic application of oral Torah.
The freedom with which we tell the Passover story mirrors our liberation from Egypt. In the creativity we bring to this task, we imitate God, the ultimate free creator..
Alas, as the Haggadah developed, we lost the Mishnah’s delicate balance: keva (fixity) completely overwhelmed kavvanah (spontaneity). The Four Questions, beloved as they are, became a prescribed recitation, as did the midrash on “My father was a wandering Aramean.” The myriad commentaries on the Passover Haggadah, spanning more than a thousand years and still going strong, as these volumes indicate, have all sought to provide Seder participants with ever new insights to help restore at least a measure of the Mishnah’s sense of freshness, balance, and spirit of creativity.