הָא לַחְמָא עַנְיָא

"Ha Lachma Anya" starts Maggid with a powerful declaration of humility. By recognizing that we are nothing without Hashem, we let go of the arrogance that keeps us in exile. When we speak from a place of humility, our words create the reality of geulah. This is why we say, “Let all who are hungry come and eat”—because when we embrace humility, we open ourselves to endless possibilities. The path to freedom begins here, in this recognition.

מַה נִשְׁתַּנָה

Ma Nishtana isn’t just about getting answers; it’s about cultivating curiosity. The Four Questions teach us that seeking wisdom is the key to spiritual growth. The answers may not come immediately, but the desire to understand and question is the foundation of Torah. This is why we ask questions, even if we know the answers: it’s about developing a mindset of inquiry, one that will unlock deeper layers of spiritual wisdom.

עֲבָדִים הָיִינוּ

When we say “Avadim hayinu,” we’re not just recounting history—we’re making a declaration about our mission. We weren’t just freed from physical slavery in Egypt; Hashem took us out of the mental and spiritual chains that would have kept us lost forever. The lesson? Without divine intervention, we would have been so assimilated into Egypt that we might have forgotten who we were. And even today, it serves as a reminder: we are meant to live with purpose, focused on the higher calling that elevates us and the world around us.

וַאֲפִילוּ כֻלָּנוּ חֲכָמִים 

Even if we’re wise and knowledgeable in Torah, the Haggadah reminds us that it’s still a mitzvah to retell the Exodus story, and the more we elaborate on it, the more praiseworthy it is. This is about repetition—not because we don’t know the story, but because the story is infinite, with new layers to uncover each time. Just like Tom Brady became a legend by watching game film over and over, we’re called to dive deeper into the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim. Every year, we must listen as if it’s the first time, searching for the new insights waiting to be uncovered.

מַעֲשֶׂה שֶׁהָיָה בִּבְּנֵי בְּרַק

In Bnei Brak, the greatest rabbis—Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua, Rabbi Akiva, and others—spent the entire night talking about Yetzias Mitzrayim. Despite knowing everything, they knew the story had to be retold, especially in dark times. The night represents galus, but just like the sudden arrival of morning, geulah can break through when you least expect it. The message? Keep your emunah strong, even when it feels like nothing is changing—redemption comes suddenly.

מַעֲשֶׂה בְּרֶבִּי אֶלְעָזָר

Imagine this: one of the greatest minds of his generation, saying, “I never got it until now.” What changed? The insight that even in the darkest times—when everything feels hidden—it's crucial to speak of redemption. Rabbi Elazar's realization teaches us to keep the faith, even when the world seems to be in darkness, knowing that the light of redemption is always near.

כְּנֶגֶד אַרְבָּעָה בָנִים

The Four Sons reflect different aspects of ourselves: the Chacham seeks wisdom and action, asking how to live what he learns; the Rasha rejects growth, distancing himself from the mitzvot and the Jewish community; the Tam is indifferent, not questioning or seeking deeper understanding; and the She’eino Yodea Lish'ol is so disconnected that he doesn’t even know there’s something to explore. These archetypes aren’t just about others—they mirror where we stand in various parts of our lives. The Chacham teaches us to yearn for growth, the Rasha warns against arrogance, the Tam calls us to reignite curiosity, and the She’eino Yodea Lish'ol warns us of the dangers of apathy. As we sit at the Seder, we must ask: Where do I fall, and how can I grow?

יָכוֹל מֵראשׁ חֹדֶשׁ

Why even consider Rosh Chodesh for Sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim? Because that’s when Hashem gave us our first mitzvah—not Shabbos, not kosher, but time. Hashem wasn’t just freeing us; He was making us His partners. We set Rosh Chodesh, and He aligns the universe. The Seder isn’t just about remembering redemption—it’s about embracing the opportunity that comes with it.

מִתְּחִלָּה עוֹבְדֵי עֲבוֹדָה זָרָה הָיוּ

The Haggadah shifts from partnership to covenant—our relationship with Hashem isn’t just a connection, it’s eternal. Yehoshua reminds Bnei Yisrael that they’re part of a story much larger than themselves, one that began with Avraham and continues through them. Hashem kept His promise to us, shaping history to bring us here. Now the question is—will we step up and carry it forward?

וְהִיא שֶׁעָמְדָה

"Vehi Sheamda" teaches us that we weren’t meant to blend in with the world around us. Throughout history, attempts to fit in only reminded us of our difference—our unique role in the world. We are here to elevate, not assimilate. This moment pushes us to embrace our identity and rise above the ordinary, knowing our true mission is far greater than just surviving.

אֲרַמִּי אֹבֵד אָבִי

In this part of the Haggadah, we’re confronted with two kinds of exile: Lavan’s exile of comfort, where assimilation subtly erases our identity, and Pharaoh’s exile of oppression, which is painful but clear. The Haggadah teaches us that the “comfortable” exile is actually more dangerous because it quietly destroys us from within, whereas oppression can make us stronger. In Egypt, despite everything, we grew from 70 to 2 million, showing that even in the darkest times, Hashem is always nurturing us. Our job is to stay awake spiritually, trust that Hashem is guiding us, and never lose sight of who we are, no matter what.

וַיָּרֵעוּ אֹתָנוּ הַמִּצְרִים : They Oppressed Us

The line of Sipur Yetzias Mitzrayim, “וַיָּרֵעוּ אֹתָנוּ הַמִּצְרִים,” isn’t just about physical oppression—it’s a wake-up call. Yes, the Egyptians were cruel, but today, we have our own “taskmasters.” We’re enslaved by phones, work pressures, and the constant pursuit of success and status. Just like Pharaoh’s irrational fear of the Jews, we’re caught in a world that distracts us from what really matters. True freedom starts with recognizing the chains we’re in—and choosing to break free by putting Hashem at the center of our lives.

“וַנִּצְעַק אֶל ה׳” : We Cried Out to Hashem

The line “וַנִּצְעַק אֶל ה׳,” marks a profound turning point in the Exodus story. When things seem impossible, we don’t push harder—we cry out to Hashem. Just like a child calling out for their parent, when we humble ourselves and cry to Hashem, He listens. He doesn’t wait for us to have everything figured out; He’s our Father, always ready to help. This is the moment of redemption—when we recognize that we can't do it alone and turn to Him, and He responds. And that's the deeper message of Pesach: it’s not just about reliving history—it’s about knowing that Hashem is with us right now, hearing our cries and ready to lead us out of every struggle we face.

עֶשֶׂר מַכּוֹת

We’re not just remembering the ten plagues; we’re learning from them. The Haggadah shifts to the plagues not just to tell a story but to show the world something profound: Hashem is revealing Himself to Egypt and the entire world. Each plague isn’t just about punishing Pharaoh—it’s a lesson. First, Hashem shows that He exists, then that He’s involved in every detail of the world, and finally, that He’s the only power. These plagues aren’t random—they’re a curriculum designed to shatter every illusion of control and teach humanity who truly rules. When we recount them, we’re not just remembering what happened in Egypt—we’re witnessing the greatest revelation of God’s presence in the world, one that continues to define our lives today.

דַּיֵּנוּ

Dayenu teaches us the profound power of gratitude by breaking down the journey of redemption into individual steps, each worthy of recognition. It’s not just about saying "it would have been enough"—it’s about acknowledging the value in every moment and blessing, no matter how small. By internalizing this mindset, we transform our perspective, finding gratitude in the everyday moments that often go unnoticed. Dayenu teaches us to become people of gratitude who acknowledge and appreciate every step of the journey.

פֶּסַח

Pesach is all about the power of choice. It’s not just about Hashem passing over our homes during Makas Bechoros—it’s about the Jews choosing Hashem when they publicly sacrificed the lamb, defying Egyptian beliefs. This act of courage wasn’t just about leaving Egypt; it was about declaring, "We choose You, Hashem." And in return, Hashem chose us, establishing a deep, reciprocal bond. Pesach reminds us that our relationship with Hashem is built on this mutual choice—when we choose Him, He always chooses us back.

מַצָּה

Matzah isn't just the bread of affliction—it's the bread of urgency. Hashem rushed the Jews out of Egypt to teach the value of zerizut, or enthusiastic, immediate action in serving Him. It’s not just about speed; it’s about commitment. Matzah reminds us that when opportunities to grow or serve Hashem come, we shouldn’t hesitate—we should run toward them, and Hashem will meet us with strength beyond our natural abilities.

מָרוֹר

Maror teaches us that bitterness isn’t random—it’s purposeful. When we bless the Maror, we’re declaring: “Hashem, this bitterness isn’t accidental; it’s here to refine, strengthen, and help me grow.” In Judaism, we don’t believe in random suffering. As the Gemara teaches, "אֵין דָּבָר רַע יוֹרֵד מִן הַשָּׁמַיִם"—nothing truly bad comes from Heaven. By acknowledging and blessing our bitterness, we reveal the hidden good within it, transforming it into a catalyst for personal growth.