By Dr. Jonathan Woocher, Chief Ideas Officer at JESNA

The Seder is a ritual of transformation. In one of its pivotal passages, introducing the recitation of the Hallel (psalms of praise to God), the Haggadah instructs us that we are obligated to praise God extravagantly this night because God "brought us out from slavery to freedom, from sorrow to joy, from mourning to festivity, from deep darkness to great light, and from bondage to redemption." This theme of radical transformation is embodied as well in the symbols and actions of the Seder itself. At the outset of the evening, we anticipate this transformation in our own identities: "This year we are slaves; next year, we will be free. This year we observe here; next year in the land of Israel." During the course of the evening, the Matzah is transformed from "the bread of affliction" to the sign of our freedom. The bitter herbs are transformed by the sweetness of the haroseth into which they are dipped. It is no wonder that on this night we even imagine the possibility of the ultimate transformation: Elijah appearing to announce the arrival of the Messianic age.

The idea that radical transformation in our human situation is possible (with God's help) is one of Judaism's most powerful ideas (and one not shared by all religions and philosophies). In the Haggadah, all the credit for our liberation goes to God – so much so that Moses doesn't even rate a mention in the core narrative. But, later Jewish theology – though never displacing God from the position of primacy – recognized that we have a say in this process, that we are, in effect, God's partners in tikkun olam. And, much later, in modern times, Jews have taken up the idea that we can transform our own condition and acted boldly to realize it in history. Zionism is a product of this belief in the possibility of radical transformation, and we rightly celebrate the confirmation of its faith. (Other versions of this belief, involving social revolution, have not fared as well, although we might view our own achievements in America as partial vindication of a similar confidence.)

The notion that we are not fated always to be what we have been in the past or are today is both a source of hope and a call to action. The Pesach story has inspired not only Jews, but many who have been downtrodden. They see in it a promise that they too can make the transformation from slavery to freedom and sorrow to joy that our ancestors did – and so it has been for at least some of those so inspired. That our tradition has chosen this event as the quintessential, paradigmatic event in all Jewish history – the event that stands behind the Torah itself (the God of Sinai is the God "Who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage"), the event that we recall repeatedly in our liturgy and all of our celebrations – is striking, albeit so familiar that we may not even consider its profound implications.

By making the story of the Exodus a paradigmatic, not a one time, event, Jewish tradition offers a forceful rebuke to all those who believe that this type of transformation is not possible in our world. Rather, the Haggadah insists that this experience is one that every generation undergoes (hence the need to be grateful for what has happened to us, not just to our ancestors). In the traditional Seder, the focus is on those who have repeatedly sought to destroy the Jews throughout history (not an expression of paranoia even today when an Ahmajinedad rules in Teheran). But, I believe there is a larger meaning here as well: If we know where, when, and how to look, we can see evidence of transformations once thought impossible or improbable in many places, both on the world stage and in the intimacy of our private lives.

We have, therefore, no excuse to throw up our hands and say that there is nothing to be done. We may not be able to rely on plagues and miracles to effect radical transformation in the world today. But, neither should bondage and affliction be allowed to go unchallenged. The Seder is, of course, "only" a ritual, a recitation of words and symbolic actions. Proclaiming that our lives have been transformed from servitude and sorrow to freedom and celebration does not make it so – for us, and certainly not for others. But, knowing that this transformation has happened – experiencing it in the course of one night – is surely meant to make us more sensitive to the possibilities of it happening again in our world and, hopefully, more willing to play a role in the realization of those possibilities.

Above all, the experience of Pesach calls for and calls forth our capacity for self-transformation. How else can we, as the Seder demands, come to feel personally as if we were among those departing from Egypt except by escaping our own "mitzraim," the constricting forces that often feel as oppressive as physical enslavement, and seizing the opportunities we have been given? By retelling the tale as the Torah commands, by ensuring that our children know it and appreciate its significance, we ourselves become part of the story. As we go through the rituals, each so evocative, with family and friends, it is hard to avoid sharing in the uplifting sense of gratitude that is the dominant emotion of the evening. And, armed with such gratitude, how can we not be motivated to give back, to do our share in helping others enjoy what we find so precious?

Happily, in JESNA's work transforming Jewish education, we are not seeking to liberate the enslaved (though I fear that not a few children stuck in a less-than-enthralling Hebrew school class might not agree). But, we do need to counteract the sentiment still heard too often that "things will never change." We would argue to the contrary: Real transformation of Jewish education is not only possible, it is happening around us. Our challenge at JESNA is to help accelerate that momentum for change. We do so by partnering with others who share our faith and our commitment, and bringing our energies and expertise to bear on tackling the barriers that stand in the way of consistently engaging, inspiring, impactful Jewish education.

This year as we celebrate the miraculous transformation that changed us from a powerless group of slaves to a free people charged with a sacred mission to exemplify justice and righteousness, let us remember that we too have the need and the ability to be transformed and to help transform the world – or just our little piece of it – for others. It's a gift and a trust that we have carried from generation to generation, and that we reclaim each spring as we recount that first great transformation. May you celebrate a joyous and transforming Pesach.

A few weeks ago I received an email from a graduate student in Israel whom I did not know asking for a copy of an old article of mine - in fact, the first academic article that I ever had published, 35 years ago. It was flattering, but also a little embarrassing, since I had no idea where to find a copy. I finally managed to dig one out from a decaying cardboard box that holds (I found) reprints of a number of pieces I wrote in my teaching days, scanned it, and emailed it back to him. I haven't heard back yet whether the article served the purposes he had in mind, but it was something of a nostalgic moment for me. And, also a timely one, since the article deals with the Seder.  

In the article, I tried to address the question of what we can learn from the Seder's enduring popularity as Judaism's single most widely observed ritual, at least among American Jews. Many years ago, the great sociologist Marshall Sklare offered an explanation for the Seder's popularity that placed it in a larger American Jewish context, and that probably still holds true today. He argued that mid-20^th century Jews were most likely to maintain traditional Jewish rituals if they 1) are capable of effective redefinition in modern terms; 2) do not demand social isolation or the adoption of a unique lifestyle; 3) accord with the religious culture of the larger community and provide a "Jewish" alternative if needed; 4) are child-centered; and 5) are performed annually or infrequently. The Passover Seder neatly fits the bill on all of these counts.  

In my article, I asked a slightly different question: I wanted to explore what meaning those participating in a Seder might derive from it, and how this meaning might fit with the larger concerns and aspirations of American Jews. The Seder and the Haggadah which serves as its script and framing document are actually quite explicit about what the ritual should evoke among its participants: we should feel as if we personally experienced the Exodus from Egypt. Enabling us to re-experience that passage from slavery to freedom, darkness to light, sorrow to joy, is the "curriculum" of the Seder. Every element of the rite is designed - brilliantly, from a pedagogical perspective - to make the story of the Exodus the powerful paradigmatic lens through which we understand Jewish history, even up to our own day. The Seder celebrates God's role as Redeemer not just once, but throughout the generations, and it ends with the promise of an even greater Redemption yet to come.

The language of the Seder is classically religious, yet, judging by its popularity among even secular Jews, its message seems to transcend the boundaries of traditional theology. The story of the Exodus, graphically re-presented as it is in the Seder ritual, clearly carries meaning for a wide spectrum of Jews, from the most traditional to many of those otherwise disconnected from Jewish ritual and communal life. The numbers who participate, the diversity of different types of Sedarim mounted, the variety of Haggadot, many with special themes and with new ones appearing each year (including now "make your own" digital versions), all give testimony to the unusually broad appeal of this ritual. Indeed, we know that it carries meaning for many who are not even Jewish, making Passover something close to a "universal" holiday. At this point, we may be tempted to say "dayyeinu." With admiration and perhaps some pride, we can claim that in the Exodus story and the Passover Seder, Jewish tradition has produced one of history's most enduring and evocative myths and rituals. Yet, I suspect that some may be troubled by the very "success" of the Seder. If this is a ritual in which so many can find such diverse meanings, meanings often far removed from the original content and context of the Exodus story as a manifestation of God's redemptive power on behalf of God's chosen people, is there a danger that we will lose touch with the uniquely and particularly Jewish message and meaning that Pesach is intended to convey?  

This is not an idle question at a time when vigorous debate is underway in the Jewish community about whether a contemporary passion for aiding all those in need (tikkun olam) has eclipsed the historic sense of mutual responsibility (areivut) that for many generations drove Jews to care for one another as an unquestioned priority. I would not pretend that the Haggadah and Seder provide clear guidance on how to resolve this debate. But, there is one idea from my paper of 35 years ago that might be relevant to the discussion and shed light from a slightly different angle on the Seder experience itself.  

The interpretation of the Seder ritual that I offered in that article drew heavily on the work of the eminent cultural anthropologist Victor Turner. Turner's work focused on symbols, rituals, and especially rites of passage. The Seder, I suggested, can well be understood as just such a rite. Turner gave special attention to a particular type of passage rite that he characterized as rituals of "anti-structure." These are rituals in which customary social orders and hierarchies are suspended, both actually and symbolically, to allow the emergence of something Turner called "communitas," an unstructured and relatively undifferentiated communality characterized by concrete and immediate inter-human relatedness.  

I will not bore you with the full argument that I made in my article as to why the Exodus narrative and, even more, the Seder ritual fit almost perfectly into Turner's category of anti-structural myths and rituals. (If you're really interested, please email me and I'll be happy to send you the article.) Suffice to say that a number of the features of the Seder that we take for granted - e.g., the unusual foods (especially the matzah), the prominent role given to children, the invitation to "all who are hungry" to join us - and some that may have puzzled us - e.g., the four cups of wine, why Moses is absent from the Haggadah, the importance of finding (and eating) the hidden afikomen - can be understood as contributing to the sense of anti-structural liminality and embracing, egalitarian communitas that Turner sees as key elements of many religious rites.  

What makes the identification of the Seder as a ritual of anti-structure and communitas potentially relevant to current Jewish discussions is the fact that Turner explicitly distinguishes "communitas" from "solidarity." Solidarity, he (and others) contend, reflects and depends on our making in-group / out-group distinctions - we feel connection to those who are like us. When, however, we experience existential communitas (which admittedly, like Buber's I-Thou relationship, is unlikely to be sustained over time), we recognize a commonality that transcends the social distinctions that divide individual from individual and group from group (at the Seder the most learned scholar and the simplest child alike are compelled to retell the Exodus story, and we manage to identify even with the Egyptians as we remove a drop of wine from our cups when we recount the plagues that befell them).  

In this light, it is perhaps entirely appropriate that Passover and the Seder ritual hold appeal to so many, Jew and non-Jew alike. Its meaning and message are universal. So, though its story is very much the master narrative of the Jewish people and thus, hopefully, an inspiration for us to feel closer to all our fellow Jews (who experience the Exodus together with us on this night), it is not inappropriate that it also impel us to look beyond the boundaries of our own people to find today's enslaved and to identify with their struggles.  

For me, the journey back to my professorial past this year was an enjoyable pre-Pesach interlude. I hope, though, that for all of us, Passover and the Seder will be far more than interludes. Over many centuries, they have demonstrated the potential to connect us and countless others with experiences and values that can give our lives meaning and purpose. May our Sedarim this year deepen our connections to all with whom we share the legacy and present reality of enslavement and redemption, and may they make us more dedicated and effective carriers of the Jewish / universal message of liberation and community. Chag kasher v'sameach.