“What do we do about our Passover seder? We can’t act like everything is normal.”
The question has been percolating for weeks among my Jewish friends. We are about to celebrate a holiday of liberation, and yet the Israel-Gaza war continues to exact a huge daily toll in human suffering and oppression.
For many of us, it feels as bitter as maror to celebrate our own freedom while hundreds of thousands of displaced Gazans face starvation from policies carried out in our name. Or the salt water reminds us less of ancient Exodus sorrows than of tears for those killed and captured on October 7th.
Fortunately, the Passover seder can speak to all of that.
In American Jewish communities—especially liberal ones—there is a tradition of adapting the haggadah to present-day events and challenges. This has gone on at least since the civil rights and anti-war movements of the 1960s, and possibly longer: haggadot, supplemental readings, and added rituals (like that orange on the seder plate) that speak to racial justice, environmental crisis, global hunger, Israeli-Palestinian peace, and more.
So what about this year?
I’m including links below to haggadot and supplemental readings that address the Israel-Gaza war. But I suggest opening up your seder to discussion, not just readings. Ask guests—in advance so they have time to consider—to bring their own thoughts and feelings about Passover and this war, and suggest that they come with open ears and an open heart. Let down the defensive walls that we’ve been carrying for months. At the Seder table, we can hopefully feel safe and able to listen to others, even if their views are different from our own.
We traditionally open the four questions with “Why is this night different from all other nights?” This year we may also ask each other, “Why is this seder different from all other seders?”
Here are some moments in the seder that could be openings for fruitful discussion:
Ten Plagues
The ancient Israelites find freedom, but at a huge cost to Egyptians—all Egyptians, not just Pharoah and his advisers. Reading Exodus each year with my synagogue’s Torah study group, we always return to the injustice of this. Why did God need to inflict such death and pain on the Egyptian masses? Why did God harden Pharoah’s heart so many times? Couldn’t one plague have been enough to win our freedom?
Our sages had these questions too. So even the most traditional Haggadah includes a ritual of removing one drop of wine from our cups for each plague, to show that our joy is diminished by the suffering of others. That’s one of the most beautiful moments in the seder—and in Judaism—for me.
This year the ten plagues lend themselves to questions such as: Must Jewish freedom rest upon the suffering of others? Must Israel’s security require the subjugation of Palestinians? Do Israel’s current policies in Gaza and the West Bank make Jews more free or do they make us less human? What are some alternative visions for freedom and security that could foster well-being for both peoples? What can we do, here in the Diaspora, to help promote those alternative visions?
Maror
The maror (bitter herbs) on the seder plate traditionally represent the bitterness of our enslavement in Egypt. One option this year is placing two servings of maror on the seder plate instead of one, to symbolize the current suffering of both Israelis and Palestinians.
For Israel: the October 7th massacre, the displacement of hundreds of thousands of people from their homes near the northern border because of Hezbollah shelling, the continued captivity of hostages, and most recently the rain of Iranian missiles targeting the center of the country.
For Palestinians: over 32,000 dead in Gaza amid widespread destruction and famine, continuing land seizures and settler attacks in the West Bank, and discrimination and marginalization imposed on Palestinian citizens of Israel.
This year there is enough suffering to fill the entire seder plate with maror.
It’s easy to lose sight of others’ suffering when your own tribe is hurting. It’s easy to slip into a binary view of innocent-victims-versus-evil-oppressors. Yet this conflict is nuanced and a simplistic, binary view does everyone a disservice.
Leviticus 19:34 tells us, “Treat the stranger living among you as one of your own citizens; love them like your own, since you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” The Mishnah tells us, “Whoever destroys a single life is considered by Scripture to have destroyed the whole world, and whoever saves a single life is considered by Scripture to have saved the whole world.”
And the sage Rabbi Hillel rejected the easy allure of the binary when he said, “If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”
Ask your guests: Why do we have two servings of maror on the Seder plate this year? Do we gain anything by arguing over which scoop of maror is bigger or more bitter? What do those quotes from Jewish tradition tell us about how to handle so much suffering?
The Four Children
The haggadah section about the four children (four sons) is nominally about how to tell the story of Passover to different kinds of learners, from the child who’s too little to ask to the one who poses hostile questions. But it’s also about Jewish identity—do we see ourselves as part of the Jewish people, as outsiders looking in on Judaism, or do we know nothing about it?
This could be an opportunity to share how October 7th and the ensuing war have affected our identities as Jews. Do we feel more connected to and protective of Israel? Ashamed by or angry at Israel? Do we feel newly vulnerable to anti-Semitism here in the U.S.? How frequently do our feelings about Israel and Judaism shift these days?
Seder plate additions — maybe an olive?
I like the idea of adding an olive or (if you are in California!) a twig from a neighbor’s olive tree to the Seder plate. This evokes multiple layers of meaning: olives are an essential part of the land that is Israel/Palestine, and their oil is a staple food for both peoples, a commonality. But they are also a symbol of conflict as generations-old Palestinian olive orchards are uprooted on the West Bank to make way for Jewish settlements.
Ultimately, though, the olive branch is a sign of the peace that we aspire to see in this land. After the great flood of Genesis, the dove returned to Noah with an olive branch—a sign that the waters were receding, land was emerging, and a hopeful future was visible. We yearn for the same hopeful future embodied in that branch.
Ritual additions
Along with pouring a cup of wine for Elijah, pour a cup for the Israeli hostages still in the hands of Hamas. Or set an empty place at the table for them: we share their families’ grief and we want them home.
Along with hiding the afikomen, set aside a matzah in recognition of the suffering and famine in Gaza. But don’t just recognize. Make a donation to World Central Kitchen or another group providing emergency food to Gaza: we cannot happily feast when others are desperate for a piece of bread.
Next Year in Jerusalem
The seder traditionally ends with the words L’shana haba’ah b’Yerushalayim, or “Next year in Jerusalem.” The roots of the word Yerushalayim are shin-lamed-mem, the same letters that form the word shalom or peace. It’s often translated as “city of peace.”
Our family haggadah, which I compiled some 30 years ago, introduces this final phrase this way:
L’shanah haba’ah b’Yerushalayim: what does this mean? For some Jews, it meant a dream they might someday get to live in the real city of Jerusalem, enjoying free lives in a Jewish homeland. For other Jews, it meant that they hoped the world would become as holy as the idea of Jerusalem — a place where people treat each other fairly and compassionately.
In the coming year, may the real city of Jerusalem become a city of peace and hope for Jews, Muslims, and Christians alike. And may the world become a place of harmony and contentment for all.
So what does “next year in Jerusalem” mean for us in this particularly fraught year? This is another opportunity to ask your guests to share their hopes and fears. And perhaps follow up by asking for things we can do to help make next year’s Jerusalem—or Israel/Palestine as a whole—a true “city of peace.”
These are just a few ideas. There are many more, from a variety of viewpoints, in the readings below.
Jewish tradition tell us that “whoever talks at length about the Exodus from Egypt is praiseworthy." Whether short or long, may your Seder be both joyful and thoughtful, attuned to our present moment but also timeless, and full of open-hearted discussion that will move us further along the long road to freedom and justice.
Resources
Here are some resources for incorporating discussion of the Israel-Gaza war into your seder, from a variety of viewpoints. Pick and choose what resonates with you!
Thank you to my friends Deborah, Sarah, Judy, and others who helped gather these. I’m sure there are more. If you know of other Haggadah supplements or ritual ideas, please add them in the comments.
Rabbi Amy Eilberg: How to Talk about the Elephant in the Room at This Year’s Seder
J Street Haggadah Supplement: Fifteen Steps to Freedom
Jewish Currents: Red Sea poem by Aurora Levins Morales (written in 2002 but re-issued now)
If Not Now: Freedom for All Haggadah (they also have a songbook with liberation songs and multiple language versions of Echad Mi Yodea & Chad Gadya!)
New Israel Fund haggadah supplement
Jewish Voice for Peace Haggadah: Exodus from Zionism. Also from JVP and IfNotNow: A Shulchan Orech Pledge for Passover
Truah: Rabbinic Call for Human Rights -- Haggadah Supplement
Shalom Hartman Institute: In Every Generation, a Haggadah Supplement for 5784 (This includes some haggadah illustrations from the early years of Kibbutz Be’eri, one of the kibbutzim attacked on October 7th.)
Kveller Magazine: Seven Ways to Address October 7 at Your Seder
Rabbi Arthur Waskow: Notes Towards a Passover Haggadah for the Bloodshed Crisis of 2024
Just a wonderful set of ideas for Passover. Thanks so much