What Is the Haggadah—and What Is Its Purpose? |
For an abridged video version of these thoughts on the Haggadah: https://youtu.be/U0iy8rIjs34
In Judaism, we generally recognize two primary categories of sacred texts. The first is the Torah—whether in its original scroll form or in printed editions—which embodies God’s communication to us. The second is the Siddur, the Jewish prayer book, which gives voice to our attempts to communicate with God. This raises an intriguing question: where does the Passover Haggadah belong within this framework? Is it a text to be recited, like the Siddur, or one to be studied and analyzed, like the Torah?
On the one hand, the widespread custom is for the leader of the Seder—or even each participant—to read the Haggadah word for word, much as one recites from a prayer book. On the other hand, the remarkable proliferation of Haggadot published each year—often accompanied by rich and varied commentaries—suggests that it is a text meant for study and reflection, akin to the Torah itself. So which is it?
The answer, it would seem, is neither—and both, only in part.
Certain sections of the Haggadah—such as Kiddush, the blessings over Matzah and Maror, and the recitation of Hallel—are clearly intended to be said as formal liturgy. Yet the greater portion of the Haggadah is neither a prayer text to be recited nor a classical text to be studied in the abstract. Its function lies elsewhere.
The very name Haggadah (הַגָּדָה) is derived from the Hebrew verb lehagid (לְהַגִּיד), “to tell.” Its purpose is not merely to be read, but to guide us in the act of telling—the telling of the story of the Exodus, as commanded in the Torah: “And you shall tell your child on that day…” (Exodus 13:8).
Elaborating on this commandment, Rambam (Maimonides) writes in Hilchot Chametz u’Matzah (Chapter 7):
“It is a positive commandment of the Torah to relate the miracles and wonders performed for our ancestors in Egypt on the night of the fifteenth of Nisan… A father should teach his son according to the son’s level of understanding. If the child is young or simple, he should say: ‘My child, we were slaves in Egypt like this maidservant or slave. On this night, God redeemed us and brought us to freedom.’ If the child is older and wise, he should recount in detail what occurred in Egypt and the miracles wrought by Moses our teacher—each explanation tailored to the child’s understanding… One begins with degradation and concludes with praise… In every generation, a person must view himself as if he personally had come out of Egypt…”
From Rambam’s formulation, four fundamental principles of this mitzvah emerge:
The central obligation of the Seder night is to recount the miracles and wonders experienced by our ancestors.
The telling must be adapted to the listener—especially to the child—according to their level of understanding.
The narrative must follow a clear arc: beginning with degradation and culminating in praise and redemption.
The experience must be personal—each individual must see themselves as if they themselves had been enslaved and redeemed.
In essence, the mitzvah is not to recite a fixed text, nor to engage in detached analysis, but to tell a story—a story that awakens memory, invites dialogue, and draws each participant into the lived experience of redemption.
This understanding has profound implications. The purpose of reading the Haggadah is not rote recitation, nor even purely intellectual discussion. Rather, the Haggadah serves as a framework—a launch pad—for dynamic, personal storytelling that brings the Exodus to life. The conversation at each Seder should differ: from family to family, from year to year, shaped by those present and by what they are ready to hear. A standardized reading, while meaningful, cannot by itself fulfill the transformative potential of the night.
The story itself must unfold as the Rambam describes—from the depths of suffering to the heights of redemption. In doing so, the Seder becomes not only a celebration, but also an exercise in empathy and gratitude. The mitzvah is not merely cognitive, but experiential. It is not enough to understand the Exodus; we are called to relive it—to feel its pain and its promise within our own lives.
If we reduce the Haggadah to a prayer book to be recited, or treat it solely as a scholarly text to be analyzed, we risk missing its essence. To fulfill the mitzvah in its fullest sense, we must use the Haggadah as a tool for immersive storytelling—personal, vivid, and relevant. Those leading the Seder must therefore consider carefully the age, background, and intellectual capacity of each participant, and shape the telling accordingly, so that every person at the table can experience the story as if it is unfolding in the present.
Preparation for the Seder, then, must extend beyond the kitchen. It must include thoughtful consideration of the content, tone, and structure of the evening’s conversation. Fortunately, we live in an age rich with resources—books, digital materials, and shared insights—that can help us craft a meaningful and engaging experience.
May this year’s Seder—or Sedarim, for those outside of Israel—be not only observant, but transformative. And may we soon witness the fulfillment of the blessing recited over the second cup of wine:
“Blessed are You… who has redeemed us and redeemed our ancestors from Egypt… So may the Lord our God bring us in peace to other festivals to come, joyful in the rebuilding of Your city and rejoicing in Your service… And we shall thank You with a new song for our redemption and for the salvation of our souls.” Chag Sameach.
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