Passover: Leadership lessons from the Seder

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by

Scott Goldstein
in

Our latest Kulanu gathering took on a slightly different form. With Passover approaching, we used the evening to think together about the Haggadah, seder leadership, and the many ways this overlaps with what we are trying to cultivate as a Community of Practice for ba’alei tefillah and engaged congregants.

At first glance, Seder leadership may not seem like the same category as leading tefillah. But the more we spoke, the clearer the connection became. Both require judgment, pacing, presence, and the ability to read a room. Both ask us to balance structure with flexibility. Both raise the question of how to help people feel not only included, but genuinely engaged.

We devoted our evening to sharing seder materials, family customs, and ideas for making the Passover Seder meaningful and accessible. What emerged was not one ideal model, but a broad and helpful range of approaches. Some described highly traditional sedarim that move briskly and follow a familiar structure. Others shared more adaptive approaches shaped by guests, children, interfaith family members, or mixed levels of Jewish background and comfort. In some cases, the goal was fidelity to what participants had grown up with. In others, the focus was accessibility, explanation, participation, or playfulness.

That diversity of practice was itself instructive. One of the clearest takeaways of the evening was that leadership is contextual. There is no single formula that works for every room. The seder that works beautifully for one family might fall flat in another. Some tables thrive on improvisation and creativity. Others want the comfort of a known order and familiar melodies. A good leader pays attention to the room they are actually in.

A number of practical strategies for engagement came up. These included sharing responsibility around the table, assigning readings in advance, using songs and humor, building in space for questions, and creating an atmosphere where children do not have to sit still in order to belong. One participant described clear “table rules” that make the seder a question-safe and wiggle-safe space. Others spoke about making room for different personalities by assigning roles that match how people naturally engage, whether that means reading, serving, tracking the order of the Seder, or simply helping hold the flow.

There was also a rich conversation about tools people use to make the Seder vivid and memorable. Some of these were playful: props, songs set to familiar tunes, dramatic readings, themed versions of Chad Gadya, and all sorts of visual or interactive elements. Some were more interpretive: additional symbols around the seder plate, extra symbolic cups*, or moments set aside to reflect on themes such as inclusion, memory, justice, and Jewish diversity. What mattered most in the discussion was not novelty for its own sake, but intentionality. Adaptation works when it serves the people at the table and deepens the experience rather than distracting from it.

Miriam’s Cup – often associated with water, symbolizing Miriam’s well and the sustaining role of women in the Exodus narrative. Ruth’s Cup – introduced in the discussion as a complement to Elijah’s Cup, emphasizing Jewish diversity, inclusion, and the idea of acting in the present – not only waiting for redemption. It also highlights Ruth as the archetypal Jew by choice. This pairing is conceptually interesting: Miriam’s Cup looks back to sustenance and overlooked leadership, while Ruth’s Cup looks forward to inclusion and responsibility in shaping the Jewish future.

At the same time, there was a healthy awareness that not every innovation works for every group. Some participants noted that attempts to introduce new texts, themes, or formats can feel energizing in one context and alienating in another. That tension is real. It is not a problem to be solved once and for all. It is part of the work of leadership. The question is not whether to adapt, but how, when, and for whom.

One particularly valuable thread in the conversation concerned difficult or uncomfortable parts of the Haggadah. How do we handle passages that feel jarring in a contemporary setting, especially when guests are present or when the language seems sharper than we are comfortable explaining? The conversation did not force consensus, and that was part of its strength. We made space for the reality that leading well sometimes means sitting with a text honestly, framing it carefully, or acknowledging tension rather than trying to smooth it over too quickly.

Music, unsurprisingly, remained central throughout the evening. We traded ideas about seder songs, melodies for Hallel, and ways familiar tunes can invite broader participation. This too connected back to Kulanu’s larger purpose. Music can be an entry point. It can lower barriers, create energy, and help people feel that they have a place in what is happening. At the same time, the discussion reminded us that musical choices are never neutral. Familiarity matters. Context matters. What works in one setting may not work in another. The skill lies in having enough range to respond thoughtfully.

In the end, this gathering offered more than a collection of Pesach ideas. It highlighted something important about Kulanu itself. This group is not only about improving technical leadership. It is about building the capacity to lead with awareness, flexibility, and care. Whether from the bimah or at the Seder table, the task is similar: to create an experience in which people can enter, participate, and find meaning.

That is easier said than done. But Kulanu gatherings like this one make clear that we learn a great deal by sharing not only polished successes, but real examples, family stories, awkward moments, practical tricks, and evolving questions. That kind of exchange is one of the strengths of a true Community of Practice.

Here are some resources shared with our CoP: