My Passover Seder, With the Help of the Velveteen Rabbi

My favorite Haggadah celebrates liberation for all

Wouldn’t mind this as my seder plate. Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

Note: Passover 2020 begins April 8th. Jews around the world will grapple with how to do a seder dinner — traditionally a very social group event — in the midst of isolation. I have faith in our ability to keep our traditions alive, even in such strange times.

The proudest moment of my childhood was the Passover night when I found the afikoman — the hidden, broken piece of matzah — wedged behind a framed painting on the wall. Victorious, I received my prize, an intricate rubber stamp of a castle that I’ve held on to into adulthood.

Passover, or Pesach, is a holiday that’s lovingly stamped in my mind.

As a practicing atheist Jew, I love to invite people over for an hours-long meal that comes with its own instruction manual. The meal is called a seder, the Hebrew word for order. The order is determined by a book called a Haggadah. And my favorite Haggadah is the one curated by The Velveteen Rabbi. It’s free, open-source, feminist, and focused on social justice.

The Velveteen Rabbi, Rabbi Rachel Barenblat, explains:

This Haggadah grew out of my desire for a seder text which cherishes the tradition and also augments that tradition with contemporary poetry, moments of mindfulness, a theology of liberation, and sensitivity to different forms of oppression.

Why are we talking about oppression at the dinner table, on a holiday?

Passover is the commemoration of the biblical story of Moses, when we Jews were slaves in Egypt, and we freed ourselves.

Why am I using we pronouns?

Yeah, it’s weird, right? The idea is Moses and Co.’s liberation was my liberation, and yours, and yours. Our liberations are intertwined. So, I speak of when I was a slave in Egypt, even if the historical accuracy of such a thing is dubious. And, on Passover, we remember that humans did and do and will enslave others, and we must be on the side of freedom.

We read responsively: Long ago at this season, our people set out on a journey. On such a night as this, Israel went from degradation to joy. We give thanks for the liberation of days gone by. And we pray for all who are still bound. — From the Opening Prayer of The VR Haggadah

What do we eat on Passover?

Not so fast. There is much to do before we eat.

We set the table, with wine cups for all the guests, plus goblets for Elijah and Miriam, just in case their spirits show up later. We need salt water for dipping, to remind us of our tears. Lotsa matzah, as this unleavened cracker bread is the only grain allowed during the eight days of Passover. And of course, we need

The ceremonial seder plate, containing

Zeroa: A roasted shank bone , representing the Paschal lamb — the animal sacrifice made by our ancestors. As vegans, my family uses a bloody-looking beet, though The VR Haggadah also recommends “a roasted sweet potato, for the pun of calling it the Paschal Yam.”

, representing the Paschal lamb — the animal sacrifice made by our ancestors. As vegans, my family uses a bloody-looking beet, though The VR Haggadah also recommends “a roasted sweet potato, for the pun of calling it the Paschal Yam.” Beitzah: An egg to symbolize rebirth. We use an heirloom porcelain egg.

to symbolize rebirth. We use an heirloom porcelain egg. Maror: A bitter herb , commonly horseradish, for the bitterness of slavery. We use dandelion greens from our yard.

, commonly horseradish, for the bitterness of slavery. We use dandelion greens from our yard. Karpas: A sprig of green vegetable , usually parsley, to symbolize spring growth and renewal.

, usually parsley, to symbolize spring growth and renewal. Charoset: A mixture of fruit, nuts and wine, to represent the mortar and bricks we were forced to build with, when we were slaves.

Everyone agrees on those five standards. Then you can get creative.

Fair-trade chocolate: A reminder that slavery very much still exists, and our choices matter.

A reminder that slavery very much still exists, and our choices matter. An olive: Representing hopes for peace in Israel, Palestine, and everywhere.

Representing hopes for peace in Israel, Palestine, and everywhere. An orange: Representing the inclusion of all genders and sexualities at the table.

The story of the orange:

In the early 1980s, Susannah Heschel attended a feminist seder where bread was placed on the seder plate, a reaction to a rebbetzin who had claimed lesbians had no more place in Judaism than bread crusts have at a seder. “Bread on the seder plate…renders everything chametz, and its symbolism suggests that being lesbian is transgressive, violating Judaism,” Heschel writes. “I felt that an orange was suggestive of something else: the fruitfulness for all Jews when lesbians and gay men are contributing and active members of Jewish life.” To speak of slavery and long for liberation, she says, “demands that we acknowledge our own complicity in enslaving others.” One additional item on our seder plate, therefore, is an orange, representing the radical feminist notion that there is — there must be — a place at the table for all of us, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. May our lives be inclusive, welcoming, and fruitful. — p. 41, The VR Haggadah

I’ll drink to that!

Glasses of Red Wine Photo by Kelsey Knight on Unsplash

The order of the night calls for four glasses of wine per person.

Grape juice is substituted for children and others who don’t drink.

The Haggadah leads us through an evening of poetry, storytelling and self-reflection, and every now and then, we are instructed to drink.

Tonight we drink four cups of wine. Why four? Some say the cups represent our matriarchs — Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah — whose virtue caused God to liberate us from slavery. Another interpretation is that the cups represent the Four Worlds: physicality, emotions, thought, and essence. Still a third interpretation is that the cups represent the four promises of liberation God makes in the Torah: I will bring you out, I will deliver you, I will redeem you, I will take you to be my people (Exodus 6:6–7.) The four promises, in turn, have been interpreted as four stages on the path of liberation: becoming aware of oppression, opposing oppression, imagining alternatives, and accepting responsibility to act. — p. 9 of The VR Haggadah

The first time I got drunk, I was 14 years old at a Passover seder.

My best Jewish friend (whose family was hosting) pulled out some sippy cups from who-knows-where, which we used for maximum alcoholic irony.

We filled — and refilled — our sippy cups with Manischewitz, the Robitussin of wine. Did our parents know? I’m not really sure. Two years in a row, I got sloshed on Manischewitz, and then I switched back to grape juice.

Dipping Parsley into Metaphorical Tears

One of the first things we do — after our first cup of wine and our ceremonial hand-washing — is dip a sprig of parsley into salt water, then eat it.

Metaphorical rebirth, dipped into metaphorical tears. Their tears. My tears. Our tears. The pain of human cruelty never fully goes away, no matter how many springs we live to see.

But what about the actual meal?

Between the second cup of wine and the third cup of wine, we share a meal.

Passover food is defined mostly by what we traditionally don’t eat.

What (basically) everyone agrees on is keeping the usual kosher laws — no meat with milk, no shellfish, pigs, or rabbits (or cats, camels, or bears — Oh my!) and no chametz — leavened grains. We eat matzah instead of chametz to commemorate how we had to flee slavery with no time to let our dough rise.

Sing to me of unleavened bread, of parsley dipped in bitter tears. Remind me if I wait until I feel fully ready I might never leap at all — Rabbi Rachel Barenblat, p. 72 of The VR Haggadah

In addition to the prohibition against chametz — wheat, oats, rye, barley and spelt — very observant Ashkenazi Jews eschew kitniyot during Passover.

Kitniyot means rice, corn, millet, beans, lentils, peas, green beans, soybeans, peanuts, sesame seeds, and mustard — plants that look similar to chametz plants.

Delicious grains or grain-like plants. Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I grew up as an Ashkenazi Jew, but we weren’t strict at all. We were the type to eat matzoh during the seder, then the rest of the week tiptoe around the question, “Does pizza really count as bread?”

As an adult, I challenged myself to host a vegan seder with no chametz and no kitniyot. No grains, no beans, no peanuts! Could it be done?

We ate roasted eggplant, breaded in matzo meal, roasted potatoes, stir-fried rainbow veggies, matzah brei, green salad with almonds and strawberry champagne dressing, and banana matzo meal macaroons for dessert.

Plus, of course, those four glasses per person of wine.

Don’t forget the fifth glass of wine!

We fill a goblet of wine for the prophet Elijah, and a goblet of water for Miriam, then we open the door wide to welcome them in.

Miriam was Moses’ sister; the stories say she had a magical well that she carried through the desert, strengthening and renewing all who drank water from it. Elijah is a sort of harbinger of messianic redemption. Some Christians believe Jesus or John the Baptist was Elijah returning. Jews believe Elijah hasn’t come back, but every Passover we reenact this farce.

The goblets are set out for them. We peek out the door, holding our breaths, waiting.

No one comes. Again.

“I have come to look forward to the opening of the door for an Elijah who is always a no-show, and I have come to believe that precisely by not appearing, that great prophet is showing us something we need to know. What does it mean that there is never anyone at the door?” — Harvey Cox, p. 70 of The VR Haggadah

No one ever comes.

Right now, we are full of drink, full of food. It has been a long dinner, and we are reclining, as every Haggadah instructs us to. Tonight, we have reflected, and tomorrow, renewed, we will start again, our work towards liberation for all. Because no one is free until everyone is free.