In a recent acquisition of a diverse compilation of Kibbutz Haggadot, I found myself contemplating not just a collection of Passover texts, but a striking reflection of the evolution of Jewish society in the Land of Israel throughout the 20th century. These non-traditional Haggadot, created by the various kibbutzim during the height of the movement, are far more than simply alternative versions of a beloved holiday ritual. They are deeply political, inflected with socialist ideals, and illustrate the profound shift from the ancient to the modern that defined the early Zionist pioneers.
Over the years, the Kibbutz movement has produced nearly 1,000 distinct iterations of the Haggadah. Each of these versions carries within it a unique vision of Jewish identity, shaped by the values of the time and the ongoing struggle for national sovereignty. These Haggadot – most of which were produced in limited numbers, often handwritten or stenciled by the kibbutz itself – serve as a striking contrast to the mass-produced versions that have become standard in Jewish households today. For the pioneers of the kibbutz, they were sacred texts that helped define the ideals of autonomy, collective living, and social justice.
The seeds of these Haggadot were sown in the early 1930s. Yet even in the years leading up to that time, Jewish revolutionary groups, including Reform Jews, were already beginning to experiment with new forms of the seder, distancing themselves from the traditional Haggadah. The second aliyah (1904–1918) heralded a period of fervent Zionist nationalism, and workers across the country began replacing the familiar liturgy with poetry, speeches, and songs – testaments to their commitment to renewal and resistance.
What strikes one immediately upon encountering these Kibbutz Haggadot is their resourcefulness. While some editions contain artwork that is aesthetically pleasing, none could be described as “polished” in the traditional sense. These Haggadot reflect an ethos of creating beauty from what was at hand. The covers, often hand-painted or stenciled, are windows into the ethos of these communal societies, while the content inside reveals a far more radical re-imagining of the Passover story. Agriculture, renewal, and the promise of a bountiful harvest – central to the life of the kibbutznik – often replace the familiar opening blessings over wine and matzah.
Yet, even more intriguing is the way these texts combine secular themes with the ancient Jewish narrative. The core story of the Exodus remains intact, but the message is now infused with the ideals of collective labor, equality, and the social justice that the kibbutz pioneers worked tirelessly to achieve. Many of these Haggadot blend Hebrew with other languages, creating a linguistic reflection of the diverse, inclusive societies they sought to build. As such, the Haggadah itself becomes a form of resistance: a declaration that Jewish liberation is not only a spiritual pursuit but also a political and social one.
The use of the seder to reflect the kibbutzniks’ vision of the future is particularly evident in the way they reimagine the Four Questions. One version asks, “Why, throughout the world, are there rich and poor, while in our collective, all are equal?” Another, produced in the turmoil of 1948 at the Cyprus detention camp, challenges the moment by asking, “How is this night different from all other nights, when we recall the Exodus from Egypt, yet our brothers stand at fortified positions against the enemy?” In these questions, the seder becomes a direct confrontation with contemporary struggles – the fight for freedom, equality, and national independence.
The central mitzvah of the Haggadah, “And you shall tell your son,” serves as a guidepost in the creation of these texts. The kibbutzniks saw the Haggadah as an opportunity not just to retell the ancient story of liberation, but also to pass on the story of their own Zionist journey. A 1949 Haggadah, for instance, refers early on to the UN vote for the establishment of a Jewish state, positioning it as a moment of redemption. Excerpts from the Song of Songs, alongside poems by Zionist poets like Leah Goldberg and Avraham Shlonsky, further highlight the deep connection between the Passover story and the dreams of the pioneers.
In certain cases, these Haggadot also took liberties with the traditional text. The section concerning “The Four Sons” was omitted from the Hashomer Hatzair Haggadah, for instance, as it was seen as an obstacle to the kibbutz’s core value of equality. Such alterations weren’t meant to erase the tradition; rather, they served as a reworking, a modern commentary on how the themes of the Exodus could be applied to the communal and socialist ideals of the kibbutz.
Perhaps the most striking feature of these Haggadot is their humor, their irreverence. A passage from a 1970s Haggadah from Kibbutz Nahshonim reads: “We were slaves to ‘capitalism’ in the city. And we cried out to Hashomer Hatzair – and it heard our voice, saw our plight, our toil, and our oppression.” Here, the biblical Exodus is no longer just a tale of divine intervention, but a tongue-in-cheek narrative where the kibbutzniks’ transformation from urban workers to rural collectivists is framed as a kind of Exodus, led not by angels, but by the human leader, Itzik.
In the end, these Kibbutz Haggadot are more than just alternative versions of a beloved ritual; they are testaments to the resilience, creativity, and ideological fervor of a generation of Jews who sought to shape the future of the Jewish people. Through these texts, the pioneers of the kibbutz movement passed on their vision of a free, just, and collective society – one that would, in their eyes, be as revolutionary as the Exodus itself.
