Leap of Faith: the Haggadah is a book of hope

The bible commands: “Explain to your child on that day, ‘It is because of what God did for me when I went free from Egypt…’” (Exodus 13:8). On this verse stands the edifice that is the Pesach seder.

The Haggadah fulfils the Mishnaic obligation (Pesachim 10:5) by including the phrase “B’chol dor vador chayav adam lir’ot et atzmo k’ilu hu yatza mimitzrayim. In every generation everyone must consider themselves as if they came forth from Egypt.” The phrase “in every generation” also appears in “vehi she’amda” – “in every generation, there are those who rise up against us to destroy us” which is placed immediately after “Blessed is the One who keeps their promise to Israel”, and concludes that God redeems us.

The Haggadah expects complete and unquestioning faith in God’s redemption, even while reminding us of the continuing threats to our existence. It’s easy to see the seder as an historical artefact, connecting us to our foundational story of the exodus and the beginnings of peoplehood, but a story nonetheless. Easy to gloss over the terror of the Hebrew slaves, the pain of the plagued Egyptians. We try to connect by adding modern glosses – oranges or olives on the seder plate, empty chairs for those prevented from joining a seder, reminders that the world has not radically changed.

But how does one process the events of October 7 and indeed last weekend? The continuing agony that shows no sign of redemption, the sense that we are all in metaphorical Mitzrayim? How to express the multiplicity of feelings we are experiencing? Our own existential dread and the pain of so many innocent deaths on both sides?

Our texts teach that God stopped the angels singing at the death of the pursuing Egyptians, asking: “My creatures are dying and you want to rejoice?” We take out drops of wine while reciting the plagues, to remember the suffering of others. But none of this feels to be enough in today’s world – the story has broken through into our reality and the current rituals need renewing.

We can repurpose some elements – an empty chair for a hostage; spilling drops of wine for the destroyed kibbutzim and for the destroyed cities in Gaza; we might write four more questions, describe four more questioners; for the invitation “all who are hungry come and eat” we could donate to services feeding the displaced. And we could create others – give blood, break matza (or two) into many pieces to recreate a different whole, rewrite shfoch hamatcha, instead asking God to pour love into our world.

Despite the texts of terror within it, the Haggadah is a book of hope. We have to find that hope.