The Open Source Haggadah

Why is this night different from all other nights.

On this night, we gather together to prepare for Passover, outside of our kitchens, in a way our foremothers could have never imagined.

On this night we join as a community to rid ourselves of a different kind of chameitz.

What do we cleanse ourselves of tonight?

The exhaustion of cleaning and cooking.

The echo of exclusionary language.

The weight of history.

The fear of women's voices.

The silencing of women's stories.

The violence done to women's bodies.

The pressure to conform to one image of who Jewish women are supposed to be.

The lingering belief that this tradition doesn't belong to women.

Let us gather all this together like crumbs. Like chameitz we are ready to burn. Let us enter into this seder as if there were no more chameitz anywhere.

As if God had forever delighted in the image of Herself in each and every one of us.

As if freedom had been ours always, fully - like an open sea.

Kol chamira vchami'a Every sort of chameitz

Libateil v'lehevei hefkeir k'afra d'ara. ...Let it be null and void, ownerless, like the dust of the earth.

Shlepin', we're marching single file
Across the Sinai, I think we'll be a while
Its been ages, since we crossed the Nile
We just keep shlepin' on

You're station in Egypt is beginning to slowly unravel
The bricks are too heavy; you're starting to feel some pain
You're thinkin' its looks like a good time to plan your next travel
And Canaan this season is nicer than going to Spain...

Shlepin', its our favorite scene
Keep shlepin', you shoulda seen where we been
The Pharoh, oh you know he was mean
So now we just keep shlepin' on

Sometimes those waves seem to be drowning me
Other times I can cross the sea
Lately it occurs to me...
...What a long, strange trip it's been

What in the world ever became of Miriam?
Livin' on manna, you know that she's a tough dame
Matzah's not bread, and yeast is just a bacterium
Hey, that bush over there seems to be still aflame


Sometimes those waves seem to be drowning me
Other times I can cross the sea
Lately it occurs to me...
...What a long, strange trip it's been

Shlepin' we're goin' a long long way
Keep shlepin' we're going to Canaan someday
Together, that's how were gonna stay
And we just keep shlepin' on

The traditional Dayenu ends with building the First Temple. As this poem suggests, much has happened since then which we should acknowledge...

We reconfigured Temple ruins:
Dug concept wells, filled thought lagoons.
The sacred words we set to tunes:
dayenu

We offered up our smokeless praise:
Acrostic hymns, in rhymed word plays,
In our trademark tongue, our standard phrase:
dayenu

We stained a sea of pages, lined
with how to search for what we find.
Built great cathedrals of the mind.
dayenu

The year of inquisition's pain
Columbus sailed the sea's blue stain
We sang upon the Spanish plain:
dayenu

The fidelity of our virgin looks
Each first time we re-read our books.
Stone soup made by mystic cooks.
dayenu

Regenerate in every age
A poet, leader, scribe or sage
put ink-black words on moon-white page:
dayenu

Since Weimar we've never had so good
in thousand oaks and forest wood
in ivy leagues and hollywood
dayenu

Beyond the Pale, outside the fold
our outstretched reach exceeds our hold
A parking spot on the streets of gold.
dayenu

We wandered here and sojourned there
Til chimney smoke stained Europe's air.
In Warsaw's Pesach did we declare
dayenu?

An evergreen, an olive tree;
To be a people, rooted, free;
A Hebrew university:
dayenu

An eagle's magic carpet ride
Through modern heaven, with a sabra guide
with our ash-strewn hair and our stiff-necked pride:
dayenu

We thought we'd never see the sight
the blue-stained star on a field of white
Hebrew TV election night:
dayenu

A passport with our cursive script;
The light fantastic that we've tripped;
the cup of wine we've barely sipped:
dayenu

Faithful to our faceless Word,
with endless talk of what we've learned,
And cognizant of what's occurred:
dayenu

It followed her everywhere
like a lover, easing us to rest,
springing from hidden places
in our wanderings.

Always, we were thirsty. Angered
by our wailing, she'd stamp her feet.
Even from the pools of her heelprints
we drank.

Once in anguish
she beat the rocks with her bare hands
again and again, weeping.
Water gushed, cleansing her blood,
soaking her hair, her robe.
She cupped her hands, rinsed her mouth,
spat; she splashed, she played.
Laughing, we filled our bellies.

She was the one we followed,
who knew each of us by name.
Healing rose from her touch as drink
from the deep, as song from her throat.

She was the well. In our hearts
we called her not Miriam, bitter sea,
but Mayim, water.

(Sung to the tune of Louie, Louie, G-C-D)

CHORUS: Pharaoh, Pharaoh, whoa baby, let my people go! (2x)

A burnin' bush told me just the other day

That I should go to Egypt and say,

"It's time to let my people be free -

Listen to God if you won't listen to me!"
CHORUS
Well me and and my people goin' to the Red Sea,

With Pharaoh's best army comin' after me.

I took my staff, stuck it in the sand,

And all of God's people walked on dry land.
Singin...

CHORUS

Now Pharaoh's army was a-comin' too,

So whattaya think that God did do?

Had me take my staff and clear my throat,

And all of Pharaoh's army did the dead man's float.

CHORUS
Well that's the story of the stubborn goat.

Pharaoh should've know that chariots don't float.

The lesson is simple, it's easy to find,

When God says, "GO!" you had better mind!