An Un-Seder for a World in Disorder
I cannot hold a normal Passover Seder this year.
The word Seder means order, and there is no order this year. I don’t have to tell you how far the world has shifted off its axis, how full our hearts are of breakage, our eyes with the tragic ironies of inverted fates. I learned about hubris from the tragedies of ancient Greece. Today, the would-be gods bring down entire populations as if they were playing video games—villages, cities, time-honored civilizations reduced to rubble in minutes.
From a distance, it looks like we Jews, victims with amnesia, are now the Pharaohs drunk on power; and Palestinians, our beleaguered subjects, desperately trying to survive under our boot, are now the world’s poets and prophets. History’s tables have turned. Passover’s tables must also turn! We must come together to tell the truth of our day as we see it: Is it a new story, or an ancient tragedy?
But read on. There are no easy dichotomies. I know of Israelis who have given up their day jobs to build orphanages in Gaza, a Palestinian-American neurosurgeon whose project to save Gazan children is funded by Israelis and US Jews, and Gazan women living in appalling conditions teaching girls and women about self care and personal dignity.
This year is messy. I am calling the circle of friends around our table an UnSeder, for lack of a better term: a disorderly, co-created, in-process, mess of a ritual. I do not know what will come of it.
But here are two UnSeder invitations for you:
First, we lost one of our beloved prophets this year: Rabbi Arthur Waskow. He wrote his famous Freedom Seder in 1969, sparked by the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The Freedom Seder poured out of Rabeinu Waskow. He said he felt the book was writing him.
Here is an idea from his Seder:
Give each person at the Passover table a blank index card. Ask them to complete any of these, or one of their own —in their own personal way.
"This year, Egypt is..."
"This year, the promised land is..."
"This year, I am Pharaoh when I..."
"This year, I am enslaved when I..."
"What I want to say to the children of Gaza is..."
"What I want to say to the children of Israel is..."
Collect the cards. Read them aloud anonymously after dinner and let it emerge into a discussion.
Second, consider having 3 cups on your table, in honor of the wise prophetic ancestors who guide us. After dinner, fill the cups and open your door to the night air. Silently invoke these (or other) wise souls. Ask your deepest questions. Then sit still and listen to their answers!
Miriam's Cup — fill it with water. Miriam is the powerful feminine leader, sister of Moses, who reminds us of the power of our song, dance, circles, dance, of hope. Who are the feminine prophets and priestesses in your lineage alive today? Who has been leading when the official leaders have failed, and what is the roadmap ahead?
Elijah's Cup — fill it with wine. Elijah (Eliyahu in Hebrew) is the wanderer between worlds, the one who comes unexpectedly in times of great need. Elijah brings healing to the ruptures between generations, and is purported to be the harbinger of redemption. Ask: Where is hope during this time of spiritual and moral rupture? Where might we place our faith, our energy?
Your Ancestors’ Cup — fill it with some liquid they would enjoy. Think of a beloved grandparent, teacher, friend, or historical figure with whom you feel a deep affinity. (This might be your namesake!) Any soul who has been gone from the earth for some time, but whose spirit is still alive for you. Ask your own personal question about the world and your place in it.
Here are a few sources you may want to download/read for your own ritual. Have a beautiful, meaningful holiday of liberation—and let it be messy!
Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear, poetry by Mosab Abu Toha — buy the book and share it at your Seder table