Said the parents to their children,
“From your bondage you’ll cut loose,
You will eat your fill of matzah,
you will drink four cups of juice.”
Now these parents had four children,
yes their kids they numbered four,
One was wise and one was wicked,
one was simple and a bore.
And the fourth was sweet and winsome,
was so young and also small,
While the other asked the questions,
this one could not speak at all.
Said the wise one to the parents,
“Would you please explain the laws...
Of the customs of the Seder,
will you please explain the cause?”
And the parents proudly answered,
“’Cause our forebears ate in speed,
Ate the Pesach lamb ’ere midnight,
and from slavery were freed.
“So we follow their example,
and ’ere midnight we must eat
The afikoman (O so tasty!)
which will be our final treat.”
Then did sneer the child so wicked,
“What does all this mean to you?”
And the parents’ voice was bitter,
as their grief and anger grew.
“If yourself you don’t consider
as a child of Yisrael,
Then for you this has no meaning,
you could be a slave as well.”
Then the simple child said simply,
“What is this?” And quietly,
The good parents told their offspring.
“We were freed from slavery.”
But the youngest child was silent,
and just could not ask at all,
but with eyes all bright with wonder,
listened to the details all.
Now dear children heed this lesson,
and remember evermore,
What the parents told their children,
told their kids that numbered four.
Every Seder tells a story that belongs to you and me,
You and I were slaves in Egypt.
Now we’re blessed with liberty.
Empty whatever wine remains in the wine glasses into the empty bowls (see page ) then pour some water from the pitcher that has stood on the table into everyone’s wine glass.
We have escaped bondage and crossed the sea. We enter the arid land before us, made hesitant by generations of servitude—mixed with our recent struggle, and yet heady in our new freedom. We have thirsted for freedom, but now we thirst for water. As with so many people in the world who do not have water, we face bitterness and quarreling. Our ancient texts tell us that Moses was able to turn the bitter into sweetness and bring forth water. But many disputes over water remain. Further, we are told that Miriam, the midwife of our liberation has stood ready, waiting to sustain us in the time ahead as we come to grips with our tasks and responsibilities. Our Sages spoke of Miriam’s Well, created in the twilight of creation’s week. It now lies hidden in the sea of Galilee for Elijah to restore to us. Ishmael received water from it as “the well of living and seeing”; Rebecca drew from it when she greeted Eliezer; the well first appeared to our people when Moses struck the rock on Miriam’s account at the place of bitterness in Sinai—and it travelled with us throughout the desert years. Its waters, we are told, taste of old wine and new wine, of milk and of honey. This is the well of the Ancestors of the world: Abraham & Sarah, Isaac & Rebecca, Jacob & Leah and Rachel dug it; the leaders of olden times have searched for it; the heads of the people, the lawgivers of Israel, Moses, Aaron and Miriam, have caused it to flow with their staves. In the desert we received it as a gift and thereafter it followed us on all our wanderings: to lofty mountains and deep valleys. Not until we came to the boundary of Moab did it disappear because we squandered our freedom by not fulfilling our responsibilities. Now, as we begin a new season of renewal, may these cleansing, refreshing waters, reminiscent of Miriam’s well, recall for us a time of purity of purpose and help us focus on the tasks ahead.
All drink the water from Miriam’s well.
And the women dancing with their timbrels Followed Miriam as she sang her song. Sing a song to the One whom we’ve exalted,Miriam and the women danced and danced the whole night long. And Miriam was a weaver of unique variety, The tapestry she wove was one which sang our history, With every strand and every thread she crafted her delight,
A woman touched with spirit she dances toward the light. Chorus
When Miriam stood upon the shores and gazed across the sea, The wonder of this miracle she soon came to believe, Whoever thought the sea would part with an outstretched hand, And we would pass to freedom and march to the promised land.
Chorus And Miriam the prophet took her timbrel in her hand, And all the women followed her just as she had planned, And Miriam raised her voice in song She sang with praise and might, We’ve just lived through a miracle, we’re going to dance tonight.
We begin our Seder and join our efforts with those everywhere who celebrate the Passover searching for its meaning in their lives; as an expression of our liberation so far... There are many possible modes for understanding the events retold in the Pesach Haggadah.
Of these, three are braided together so that, if we concentrate exclusively on any one of them, we diminish the special qualities of the entire story.
By participating in the symbolic actions built into the order of the Seder, we can share in:
the experience of the rebirth of the natural world around us, the national liberation of our people, the spiritual redemption of each individual human being.
We begin this evening: some of us feeling shackled by the bonds of winter, some of our people—and other peoples of the world—persecuted, many of us confined by our own personal limitations.
Tonight we hope to set in motion: processes of growth that encourage within each of us the
renewal of each person’s unique vision, and efforts to work for the freedom of our scattered—and all, oppressed—
people, as we see about us the flowering of a new year.
Indeed, we begin our Seder here.
However, our goals are neither our renewal, our freedom, nor our flowering.
Pesach is but the pointer to the acceptance of our commitments to complete these tasks—in a harvesting of the fruits of our labors yet to come.
Charoset is a smooth mixture of various chopped fruits including apples, and nuts, as well as wine and spices. It represents the mixture of clay and straw from which we made the mortar during our bondage. It also calls to mind the women of Israel who bore their children in secret beneath the apple trees of Egypt, and, like the apple tree that first produces fruit and then sprouts leaves to protect the fruit, our heroic mothers first bore children without any assurance of security or safety. This beautiful and militant devotion sweetened the misery of slavery, even as we dip our bitter herbs in Charoset. The pattern of our celebration is the mixture of the bitter and the sweet, sadness and joy, of tales of shame that end in praise.
Why do we wash our hands all the time?
This washing, even though it is an official task of the Seder, is done without a blessing. It is strictly for cleanliness purposes. And why not? We're about to handle food. It seems so easy for us. We turn on the tap, and there it is. But water is scarce. May we be aware of our water as we continue the Seder.
Said the parents to their children,
“From your bondage you’ll cut loose,
You will eat your fill of matzah,
you will drink four cups of juice.”
Now these parents had four children,
yes their kids they numbered four,
One was wise and one was wicked,
one was simple and a bore.
And the fourth was sweet and winsome,
was so young and also small,
While the other asked the questions,
this one could not speak at all.
Said the wise one to the parents,
“Would you please explain the laws...
Of the customs of the Seder,
will you please explain the cause?”
And the parents proudly answered,
“’Cause our forebears ate in speed,
Ate the Pesach lamb ’ere midnight,
and from slavery were freed.
“So we follow their example,
and ’ere midnight we must eat
The afikoman (O so tasty!)
which will be our final treat.”
Then did sneer the child so wicked,
“What does all this mean to you?”
And the parents’ voice was bitter,
as their grief and anger grew.
“If yourself you don’t consider
as a child of Yisrael,
Then for you this has no meaning,
you could be a slave as well.”
Then the simple child said simply,
“What is this?” And quietly,
The good parents told their offspring.
“We were freed from slavery.”
But the youngest child was silent,
and just could not ask at all,
but with eyes all bright with wonder,
listened to the details all.
Now dear children heed this lesson,
and remember evermore,
What the parents told their children,
told their kids that numbered four.
Every Seder tells a story that belongs to you and me,
You and I were slaves in Egypt.
Now we’re blessed with liberty.
Empty whatever wine remains in the wine glasses into the empty bowls (see page ) then pour some water from the pitcher that has stood on the table into everyone’s wine glass.
We have escaped bondage and crossed the sea. We enter the arid land before us, made hesitant by generations of servitude—mixed with our recent struggle, and yet heady in our new freedom. We have thirsted for freedom, but now we thirst for water. As with so many people in the world who do not have water, we face bitterness and quarreling. Our ancient texts tell us that Moses was able to turn the bitter into sweetness and bring forth water. But many disputes over water remain. Further, we are told that Miriam, the midwife of our liberation has stood ready, waiting to sustain us in the time ahead as we come to grips with our tasks and responsibilities. Our Sages spoke of Miriam’s Well, created in the twilight of creation’s week. It now lies hidden in the sea of Galilee for Elijah to restore to us. Ishmael received water from it as “the well of living and seeing”; Rebecca drew from it when she greeted Eliezer; the well first appeared to our people when Moses struck the rock on Miriam’s account at the place of bitterness in Sinai—and it travelled with us throughout the desert years. Its waters, we are told, taste of old wine and new wine, of milk and of honey. This is the well of the Ancestors of the world: Abraham & Sarah, Isaac & Rebecca, Jacob & Leah and Rachel dug it; the leaders of olden times have searched for it; the heads of the people, the lawgivers of Israel, Moses, Aaron and Miriam, have caused it to flow with their staves. In the desert we received it as a gift and thereafter it followed us on all our wanderings: to lofty mountains and deep valleys. Not until we came to the boundary of Moab did it disappear because we squandered our freedom by not fulfilling our responsibilities. Now, as we begin a new season of renewal, may these cleansing, refreshing waters, reminiscent of Miriam’s well, recall for us a time of purity of purpose and help us focus on the tasks ahead.
All drink the water from Miriam’s well.
And the women dancing with their timbrels Followed Miriam as she sang her song. Sing a song to the One whom we’ve exalted,Miriam and the women danced and danced the whole night long. And Miriam was a weaver of unique variety, The tapestry she wove was one which sang our history, With every strand and every thread she crafted her delight,
A woman touched with spirit she dances toward the light. Chorus
When Miriam stood upon the shores and gazed across the sea, The wonder of this miracle she soon came to believe, Whoever thought the sea would part with an outstretched hand, And we would pass to freedom and march to the promised land.
Chorus And Miriam the prophet took her timbrel in her hand, And all the women followed her just as she had planned, And Miriam raised her voice in song She sang with praise and might, We’ve just lived through a miracle, we’re going to dance tonight.
We begin our Seder and join our efforts with those everywhere who celebrate the Passover searching for its meaning in their lives; as an expression of our liberation so far... There are many possible modes for understanding the events retold in the Pesach Haggadah.
Of these, three are braided together so that, if we concentrate exclusively on any one of them, we diminish the special qualities of the entire story.
By participating in the symbolic actions built into the order of the Seder, we can share in:
the experience of the rebirth of the natural world around us, the national liberation of our people, the spiritual redemption of each individual human being.
We begin this evening: some of us feeling shackled by the bonds of winter, some of our people—and other peoples of the world—persecuted, many of us confined by our own personal limitations.
Tonight we hope to set in motion: processes of growth that encourage within each of us the
renewal of each person’s unique vision, and efforts to work for the freedom of our scattered—and all, oppressed—
people, as we see about us the flowering of a new year.
Indeed, we begin our Seder here.
However, our goals are neither our renewal, our freedom, nor our flowering.
Pesach is but the pointer to the acceptance of our commitments to complete these tasks—in a harvesting of the fruits of our labors yet to come.
Charoset is a smooth mixture of various chopped fruits including apples, and nuts, as well as wine and spices. It represents the mixture of clay and straw from which we made the mortar during our bondage. It also calls to mind the women of Israel who bore their children in secret beneath the apple trees of Egypt, and, like the apple tree that first produces fruit and then sprouts leaves to protect the fruit, our heroic mothers first bore children without any assurance of security or safety. This beautiful and militant devotion sweetened the misery of slavery, even as we dip our bitter herbs in Charoset. The pattern of our celebration is the mixture of the bitter and the sweet, sadness and joy, of tales of shame that end in praise.
Why do we wash our hands all the time?
This washing, even though it is an official task of the Seder, is done without a blessing. It is strictly for cleanliness purposes. And why not? We're about to handle food. It seems so easy for us. We turn on the tap, and there it is. But water is scarce. May we be aware of our water as we continue the Seder.
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