Ääniä Kaikkeudesta – Punamusta Liekki #23/toukokuu 2026
The Ääniä Kaikkeudesta column publishes writings about the eternal questions of humanity.
Author: Syd K.
On the 15th of Nisan, 5786 – 1st of April, 2026, by the Gregorian calendar – Jews around the world celebrated Pesach, known as Passover in English. The holiday dates back over 3000 years, and is observed over eight days, with a ceremony on the first two nights called a Seder. Today, I invite you to sit at my table and join our Seder through my words.
We come together to tell the story of The Exodus, in which the Jews were liberated from enslavement following the Ten Plagues: Blood, frogs, lice, flies, pestilence, boils, hail, locusts, darkness and finally, the death of firstborn sons.
The Seder is structured by a series of 15 ceremonial actions, through which the story is told and we discuss the themes of liberation, education, perseverance, and faith. Since the rise of Zionism, the rituals of Pesach have been warped to fit the genocidal narrative.
We are guided through the 15 rituals by a booklet called a Haggadah. It’s common for families to have their own Haggadah, an interpretation of a foundational text of Judaism. I grew up with a Haggadah prepared by my father, which was steeped in Zionist myths and ideas. I love my father, but it is clear that my family has been indoctrinated into Zionist beliefs. I struggle constantly to find truth outside the myths that I was surrounded by in my childhood. I hope to one day prepare my own Haggadah rooted in anti-Zionism and liberation for all who face oppression.
Our Haggadah tonight was prepared by the organization Jewish Voice for Peace. Surrounded by my non-Jewish loved ones, I am honored to introduce these ancient rituals to new hearts. I have never hosted a Seder before, and chose for my first time to leave some sections out in the interest of a more digestible and succinct ceremony. To me, in matters of spirituality, the intent matters more than achieving perfection.
Kiddush
Our Haggadah opens with an introduction, welcoming all feelings of grief, rage, fear, steadfastness, and dreams of collective liberation. With the Seder plate laid out before us, displaying the ceremonial foods (a lamb bone, bitter herbs, horseradish, charoset, an egg, and greens), we pour the first of four cups of wine.
We bless the wine in the name of all those lives belonging to each and every Shaheed – Arabic for the word martyr.
L’chaim.
Urchatz
Traditionally, Urchatz – the ceremonial washing of hands – is a very quiet and personal practice. One raises a pitcher of water and pours over each hand three times in silence.
Tonight, we participate in a new ritual – we come together as friends, comrades, accomplices, to wash each other’s hands. Together we share an intimate moment with those beside us, pouring water over the hands of the person to our left, a spiritual cleansing shared in solidarity. Through this action we communicate clearly: we cannot do this alone. From building a revolution to simply getting by, we need other people.
Karpas
I was taught growing up that the tradition of dipping the bitter herbs (in our case, parsley) into salt water and consuming them, known as Karpas, symbolized the tears of enslaved Jews in Egypt those thousands of years ago. Tonight, instead, as we dip our herbs, we speak of water in Gaza – the violence inflicted by depriving a people of their right to drinkable water. Together as one, we speak out:
“Gaza! We will never forget you, we will never forsake you, we will never stop fighting for you until all of your people are safe and free!”
Yachatz
Background: During The Exodus, the Jews were in such a hurry to escape their enslavement that they had no time to let their bread rise. Instead, they rushed out into the desert and ate unleavened bread, matzah. For thousands of years we have honored this by eating only matzah instead of traditional breads during the eight days of Pesach.
This section of the Seder asks us to break the middle matzah from the stack on the table. In my childhood we spoke of how the enslaved Jews were broken and defeated. Tonight, we take one half of the broken matzah and break it in half again, and again, before sharing the pieces of matzah that remain.
In doing so we break the spells cast by systems of empire and domination that seek to suppress us. We break the ideologies of oppressive institutions. We break down the stories limiting what is possible. We break what does not serve us, and take our power back.
Maggid
At this point in the Seder we retell the story of The Exodus, which ends with the Jews wandering the desert for 40 days and 40 nights in search of “the promised land”. It is clear how this story has been easily weaponized by Zionists. A fire of resistance burns in my heart against this ideology of hate and supremacy. I am one of many Diasporist Jews, who believe that home is where we make it, not in some “promised land”. Safety for Jews does not come from an ethnostate built on blood. It comes from solidarity built between all oppressed peoples.
We now drink the second cup of wine, “to the rejection of certainty, to the motion and changes that are life.”
L’chaim.
Rachtzah
We now wash our hands for a second time. Where Urchatz happened in silence, it’s customary to say a blessing this time. Translated from Hebrew:
Blessed are you, ruler of the universe, who has sanctified us with stewardship and has directed us on the washing of the hands.
From Gaza to the Dakota Access Pipeline, water theft is a tactic of colonization. May we every day give thanks for safe, potable water and not lose sight of our privilege. Even in the US, I didn’t grow up with drinkable tap water. We are never as far away from suffering as we may think we are.
Chorech
At this point in the Seder we make a Hillel Sandwich, an ancient tradition that has us break off two small pieces of matzah and create a sandwich of Maror (horseradish) and Charoset (a mixture of apples, nuts, cinnamon, and red wine). Historically the bitter Maror symbolized the mortar used by the enslaved Jews, and the Charoset represented the sweetness of liberation and redemption. Tonight, we taste the sweetness of coming together in community, and feel heavily the bitter oppression of those targeted by Israel’s regime.
Shulchan Orech
An essential part of any Seder is Shulchan Orec, the feast to celebrate our freedom today. But how can we as anti-Zionists celebrate our freedom as so many remain oppressed, starved, tortured, martyred?
The air is heavy as we share our meal. I feel bittersweet serving dishes cooked by my ancestors in Eastern Europe, by my grandmother in New York, and now by me here in Finland. What an immense privilege it is to remember those who came before us through the luxury of accessible food.
Barech
This brings us to the third cup of wine. We drink to stepping away from dead-end paths, to leaving behind what does not serve us, to living and struggling nevertheless.
L’chaim.
From a poem offered by Rebecca S’manga Frank:
HANDS OFF OUR FRIENDS
HANDS OFF OUR FAMILIES
HANDS OFF OUR BODIES
HANDS OFF THIS LAND
HANDS OFF OUR HOME
Hallel
The fourth and final cup of wine comes along with a tradition that lives close to my heart. A moment of mutual aid passed on through the years. Through varied circumstances, generation after generation of Jews have instructed their children at this time during the Seder to open the front door to let anyone who may be hungry to enter freely and join our table. This act struck me deeply as a child and it’s something I’ve always held tightly to – that we should welcome any neighbor in need. That what’s mine is yours.
Here, I will ask you to join me, and my grandmother, and her grandmothers: open your doors how you see fit. Buy lunch for a stranger in need. Donate to a family in Gaza. Share a meal with a friend. Send a heartfelt message. Ask your immigrant friends if they need anything. Introduce yourself to your neighbor. All of the above. Open your doors.
Closing
My childhood Seders ended with a phrase that haunts me: “next year in Jerusalem.” A promise of colonial violence. Manifest destiny. Those words make my soul ache.
Tonight, in defiance, we emphatically state:
“Next year in liberation.”
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