Several weeks ago, when I went through the supermarket checkout, I was surprised to see a stack of Maxwell House haggadot there for the taking and I realized that I hadn’t seen them for many years.
It turns out this year’s Maxwell House haggadah is different from all other Maxwell House haggadot – for the first time in 79 years, the haggadah has been changed, the language updated and God no longer referred to in the masculine (at least in English, of course the Hebrew is the same.)
This story in the Philadelphia Daily News explains how Maxwell House got the haggadah recognized as pesadik in the U.S.: the company persuaded an Orthodox rabbi to declare coffee beans, not legumes, which (like peanuts), are not considered kosher for Passover, but instead as berries, which are. When he did, Maxwell House became an icon.
The haggadah was used at the first White House seder in 2009 and will be used again at the White House this year.
Interesting that the “traditional” haggadah in the United States is essentially an example of product placement. But whether traditional or the cut-and-paste version, the essence still is telling of the story about how we were freed from mitzrayim – the narrow place -- with a mighty hand.
Over the years, I’ve experimented with various ways to tell that story, keeping in mind a comment my husband made after a service that had included various many lovely readings and “enhanced” rituals. “Sometimes,” he said, “things can be too meaningful.”
The maggid comes right around the time when people’s stomachs start growling and people start wondering aloud when it’s going to be time to eat.
(I am very grateful to have heard a teaching that says that, once you dip the parsley in the salt water, you are free to dip other vegetables as well – and so we usually have platters of crudités for people to munch on.)
At my seder, we use the maggid as a kind of a breather, telling the story by singing a bunch of Passover parodies that we have collected in our own version of Exodus: the Musical. We use some of the terrific parodies included in the Passover Songbook.
And here’s a favorite written by a friend of mine:
(To the tune of 'Wouldn't it be loverly)
All I am is a Jew down here.
'gytian guard's wrath is what I fear.
They'll laugh, they'll scoff, they'll jeer
'cause now I talk to shrubbery
Hebrews' savior is what I am.
Seems a lot for a sheepish man.
You've got to understand
That now I talk to shrubbery
Some haggadot use this opportunity to pay some attention to Moses, who isn’t mentioned in a traditional haggadah (all the credit goes to God). Supposedly, the rabbis didn’t want people to focus too much on Moses, perhaps worried that he would become a Messiah-like figure, although if you read the Torah, Moses wasn’t exactly a superhero type anyway. Besides, as this essay from JBooks.com points out, it’s important to acknowledge how much work it takes to get a bunch of people all headed in the same direction.
Growing up in Pharaoh’s court and throwing his lot in with the Israelite slaves, Moses is uniquely positioned to know how the elite structures work and to inspire the base. The pioneering community organizer Saul Alinsky, in Rules for Radicals, made Moses the model for the shrewd organizer. Moses manipulates resources and evokes miracles. Moses’ bargaining skills are good enough to negotiate a settlement with an angry God. As Alinksy explains it, “Moses did not try to communicate with God in terms of mercy or justice, when God was angry and wanted to destroy the Jews; he moved in on a top value and outmaneuvered God.” Appealing to his reputation and his interests, Moses keeps the Israelite’s “Golden Calf affair” from scotching God’s Covenant.
This Passover is as good a time as any to pay homage to those organizers who invest time and energy trying to unite people to work together for a cause that is nowhere near a sure bet.