The Seder’s real mission statement
Curiously, it’s not until the very last statement of Maggid proper – before it transitions to the beginning of Hallel – that the Haggadah states its “mission statement,” as it were – with a quote from the Mishnah (Pes. 10:5):
“In each and every generation each person must see themselves as if they had, themselves, come out of Egypt.”
It’s not enough, the Mishnah says, for us to simply recite the Haggadah and go through the motions at the Seder – we must relive the experience of the Exodus. Indeed, many families have a custom where a family member acts out the leaving of Egypt with matzah upon their back.
But given the centrality of this concept to the Seder, it’s strange that the Haggadah waits until Maggid is over to reveal it. It would make far more sense to open the Haggadah with this statement – to help us focus on what we’re sat around the table to do. So why, then, does the Haggadah choose such a strange, such an unintuitive location, for the statement?
The answer may lie – as with so many of the core concepts and questions at the Seder – in recognizing that our instinctive understanding of what the Haggadah tells us might not actually be the original intent of the Seder’s crafters. Because, as Rabbi Moshe Shapiro argues in his Haggadah, Afikei Mayyim (pp. 22–24), our standard approach to the Haggadah’s mission statement makes little sense.
Think about it for a moment: How is it possible for us to truly imagine ourselves at the Seder as Jews being redeemed from Egypt? At the end of the day, surely nothing could be more futile. Because it is absolutely impossible for us – thank God! – to comprehend a life of slavery. We cannot imagine what it is like to truly feel oppressed, what it is to be subjected to generational servitude and cruelty.
And by misinterpreting the Mishnah’s rule here, all we end up doing at the Seder is acting, pretending to know what that experience is like – but, in reality, we just perform a hollow and false gesture.
Thus, R. Shapiro stresses, the purpose – the mission statement – of our Seder is very different. We’re not to supposed to act as though we’ve left Egypt but translate the retelling of our ancestors’ experience of being freed from slavery into our own life experiences, whether they be personal or national. At the Seder, we’re supposed to read the story of how God freed the Jewish people in Egypt and ask ourselves how we can apply this same message to our own lives.
And this, say R. Shapiro, is why we find this instruction right at the end of Maggid, just before Hallel. Because our recitation of Hallel at the Seder is unique (more on this for those who come to BIAV for Minḥa/Maariv during the first days of Yom Tov*). Ultimately, this Hallel is supposed to be, not a formal recitation of the text but a spontaneous, exuberant declaration of our appreciation for God’s miracles. But that can only happen if we take a moment to pause just beforehand to ask ourselves how the miracle of our Exodus has become a model for miracles in our own lives.
And I’d take this a step further. I think that including this statement at the end of Maggid acts as a sort of spiritual safety net: having read through the entire story, Maggid concludes with a prompt for us – to translate the experience of all we’ve read into our lives to fuel our Hallel.
Admittedly, this is easier said than done – and it’ll be easier for some to spot miracles more than others. Especially this year, it can be hard to feel overtly joyous at times.
But perhaps this makes it even more essential.
And thus, we conclude Maggid with our need to translate in each and every generation the experience of our ancestors’ miracles into our own lives – so that we can say Hallel upon the miracles we have been given.
*I’m not sure if this will lead to a greater or lesser attendance now …