Haggadah Quotes

I had to remind myself that Islam had once swept north as far as the gates of Vienna; that when the haggadah had been made, the Muslims' vast empire was the bright light of the Dark Ages, the one place where science and poetry still flourished, where Jews, tortured and killed by Christians, could find a measure of peace.

Our failures in charity are chained to a narrowed vision of the world that makes too much of the differences between us, and this is our enslavement.

[The haggadah] was made to teach, and it will continue to teach. And it might teach a lot more than just the Exodus story." What do you mean?" Well, from what you've told me, the book has survived the same human disaster over and over again. Think about it. You've got a society where people tolerate difference, like Spain in the Convivencia, and everything's humming along: creative, prosperous. Then somehow this fear, this hate, this need to demonize 'the other' -- it just sort of rears up and smashes the whole society. Inquisition, Nazis, extremist Serb nationalists... same old, same old. It seems to me that the book, at this point, bears witness to all that.

A sofer must fill his mind with only the holy letters. He could not be distracted by daily things. “Leshem ketivah haggadah shel Pesach,” he whispered to himself again, trying to quiet his mind. His hand formed the letter shin— the letter of reason. What reason could there be in this constant fighting with the Moors? Had not the Muslims, Jews, and Christians shared these lands in contentment—in convivencia—for hundreds of years? What was the saying? Christians raise the armies, Muslims raise the buildings, Jews raise the money.

From a minaret, the khoja called the faithful to aksham, the evening prayer. It was a sound I associated with hot places—Cairo, Damascus—not a place where frost crunched underfoot and pockets of unmelted snow gathered in the crotch between the mosque’s dome and its stone palisade. I had to remind myself that Islam had once swept north as far as the gates of Vienna; that when the haggadah had been made, the Muslims’ vast empire was the bright light of the Dark Ages, the one place where science and poetry still flourished, where Jews, tortured and killed by Christians, could find a measure of peace.

For a start, most books like this, rich in such expensive pigments, had been made for palaces or cathedrals. But a haggadah is used only at home. The word is from the Hebrew root ngd, “to tell,” and it comes from the biblical command that instructs parents to tell their children the story of the Exodus. This “telling” varies widely, and over the centuries each Jewish community has developed its own variations on this home-based celebration. But no one knew why this haggadah was illustrated with numerous miniature paintings, at a time when most Jews considered figurative art a violation of the commandments. It was unlikely that a Jew would have been in a position to learn the skilled painting techniques evinced here. The style was not unlike the work of Christian illuminators. And yet, most of the miniatures illustrated biblical scenes as interpreted in the Midrash, or Jewish biblical exegesis. I turned the parchment and suddenly found myself gazing at the illustration that had provoked more scholarly speculation than all the others. It was a domestic scene. A family of Jews—Spanish, by their dress—sits at a Passover meal. We see the ritual foods, the matzoh to commemorate the unleavened bread that the Hebrews baked in haste on the night before they fled Egypt, a shank bone to remember the lamb’s blood on the doorposts that had caused the angel of death to “pass over” Jewish homes. The father, reclining as per custom, to show that he is a free man and not a slave, sips wine from a golden goblet as his small son, beside him, raises a cup. The mother sits serenely in the fine gown and jeweled headdress of the day. Probably the scene is a portrait of the family who commissioned this particular haggadah. But there is another woman at the table, ebony-skinned and saffron-robed, holding a piece of matzoh. Too finely dressed to be a servant, and fully participating in the Jewish rite, the identity of that African woman in saffron has perplexed the book’s scholars for a century. Slowly, deliberately, I examined and made notes on the condition of each page. Each time I turned a parchment, I checked and adjusted the position of the supporting forms. Never stress the book—the conservator’s chief commandment. But the people who had owned this book had known unbearable stress: pogrom, Inquisition, exile, genocide, war.

This is the bread of affliction which our forefathers ate in the land of Egypt. Let all those who are hungry come and eat with us. Let all those who are in need come and share our meal. This year we are here. Next year may we all be in the land of Israel.

Like us, they gathered together in great joy to celebrate the Exodus. The special meal for Pesach is called the Seder. The word Seder means “order.

The first formal Haggadah was written over two thousand years ago. Over time, prayers, hymns, and selections from the Mishnah were added.

This night is different from all other nights to remind us that the Jewish people were once slaves in Egypt. God, with great strength, helped us go free.

By that time Mother was almost asleep from the accumulated tiredness after all the work that had gone into preparing the holiday and the hour was late. However, by the time he arrived, everything went into motion. He sat on a "hesse bed" - three chairs along which was spread a feather bed. Father put on a white "kittel" - a wide, white linen garment with wide sleeves and he began to read the Haggadah, the story of the Exodus. I, as the youngest child, enjoyed the privilege of sitting next to him and I asked the four questions.

In my haggadah, when it came to eat dinner, there was a piece of advice: Eat and drink and just be merry. We thought it was good advice - so why did we have to read so much after dinner? That did not make us merry, for we were all sleepy. Of course, we read to the end and sang Chadgadia and finished with the wish expressed by all the generations throughout our long history: Next year in Jerusalem. Of course, before we could reach Jerusalem, we had to reach the kitchen and wash all the dishes. The message of joy on the liberation from slavery has achieved a very immediate meaning to me later in life, in the years since my own liberation from bondage in 1945.

Inside the body of Torah, folded like a phoenix in its egg, is the story of the spiritual journey each of us can make, from slavery to sanctity. The Passover Haggadah is a golden bell whose singing tones tell us: always remember that the Holy Land is in you!

Jewish writings from the earliest times until the present are replete with references to attempts by non-Jews to destroy the Jewish people. Psalm 83:5 describes the enemies of the Jews as proponents of genocide: “Come, and let us cut them off from being a nation, that the Name of Israel may no more be remembered.” Just how precarious Jews have viewed their survival is reflected in a statement from the ancient, and annually recited, Passover Haggadah; “In every generation they rise against us in order to annihilate us.

Te vi, señor, como a un ángel de Dios, y mi corazón quedó turbado ante el temor de tu majestad, pues eres, señor, admirable y tu rostro está lleno de dignidad

We have dedicated this festival tonight to the dream and the hope of freedom, the dream and the hope that have filled the hearts of men from the time our Israelite ancestors went forth out of Egypt. Peoples have suffered, nations have struggled to make this dream come true. Now we dedicate ourselves to the struggle for freedom. Though the sacrifice be great and the hardships many, we shall not rest until the chains that enslave all men be broken. But the freedom we strive for means more than broken chains. It means liberation from all those enslavement that warp the spirit and blight the mind, that destroy the soul even though they leave the flesh alive. For men can be enslaved in more ways than one.

On this night, long years ago, our forefathers hearkened to the call of freedom. Tonight, that call rings out again, sounding its glorious challenge, commanding us to champion the cause of all the oppressed and the downtrodden, summoning all the peoples throughout the world to arise and be free. Let us raise our cups in gratitude to God that this call can still be heard in the land. Let us give thanks that the love of freedom still burns in the hearts of our fellowmen. Let us pray that the time be not distant when all the world will be liberated from cruelty, tyranny, oppression and war.

But the Pharoah that our ancestors pictured, each and every year, for century after century, when Pesah was celebrated, was more than one man: he was for them every tyrant, every cruel and heartless ruler who ever enslaved the men, women and children of his country. For our forefathers, Pharoah was the symbol of all those tyrants who ever acted as though they were gods, and whose will had to be obeyed without question, on penalty of torture or death. And that is why Pesah means more than that first emancipation the Israelites won from Pharoad when they left Egypt. It means the emancipation the serfs in the Middle Ages won from their overlords; the freedom the slaves won from their masters; the freedom the common people of countries won, when their kings were overthrown; it means the guarantee of the sacred rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The first emancipation was thus only a foreshadowing of all the emancipations that were to follow, and which will yet follow in the days to come.

Let it teach us to find delight not in selfish luxuries that excite the envy of our neighbors, but in acts of helpfulness and kindliness that inspire their respect and love. Luxuries when shared by all are good to have; they add to our enjoyment of life and help to make us happy. But when the few have more than they need, and the many have not even life's necessities, then the plea of the Prophets must be heard. Let us strive to bring about equality and justice for everyone.

Haggadah