Shefoch Hamatcha el hagoyim asher lo yeda’ucha…

Pour out Your wrath upon the nations that do not recognize You…

These words are not gentle. They are a cry of pain and fury. Try teaching them to a room full of conversion candidates, or saying them in front of any non-Jewish guests you might have at the Seder.

This section wasn’t part of the Rabbi’s original Seder, or order of events, for the Passover evening. It likely entered the Haggadah after the First Crusade of 1096, when Jewish communities were brutally attacked during Pesach itself.

This year, that cry feels all too real. Last weekend, we opened our doors for Elijah the Prophet– a symbol of a hopeful future– while 59 hostages remain in Gaza. Families gather with empty chairs. There is heartbreak. There is fear. And yes—there is anger.

The words of Shefoch Hamatcha give us permission to name this very real pain, the pain that is experienced by our people b’chol dor vador, in every generation. We allow ourselves this moment at our Pesach Seder Tables to sit in and express our anger—but we don’t act on it. What’s just as powerful as allowing ourselves to feel and express anger is what we did earlier in our seder, and what we will do next.

When we recall the Ten Plagues earlier in the evening, we don’t raise our glasses in triumph. We take out drops of wine—one for each plague, a silent gesture of grief and compassion. Our joy is diminished because others suffered, even our enemies. Even as we celebrate our liberation, we hold space for sorrow.

And after Shefoch Hamatcha, we close the door. We sit back down. And we sing Hallel—psalms of praise. We find the afikoman—the broken matzah—and we eat it, tasting both the bitterness of slavery and the sweetness of redemption.

We end our Sedarim not with vengeance, but with a hopeful vision: L’Shana Haba’ah B’Yerushalayim—Next year in Jerusalem. Not just a place, but an idea of wholeness, peace, redemption.

This Pesach, though our Seders have come and gone, may we bring our full selves to the metaphorical table—our anger, our compassion, our grief and our hope. And may we walk from the narrowness of this moment toward a future that holds healing, reunion, and redemption for all. Chag Sameach.